


Iridescence

by Faye_the_Poet



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: AU lore, Alternate Universe - Mer!Outsider, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Disorder, Arcane Bond, Canon-Typical Violence, Cultural Misunderstandings, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Constipation, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gender-neutral Reader, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Interspecies Relationship(s), M/M, Marine biologist reader, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Reader-Insert, Romance is half the plot, Slow Burn, The Outsider being his usual cryptic self, The gender of the reader is left open, The reader and the outsider have it BAD for each other but they're clueless, Touch-Starved, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Well 2/3rds at least, bless these two dorks they've been through a lot, mermaid!au, reader has anxiety, thalassophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 119,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25944904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faye_the_Poet/pseuds/Faye_the_Poet
Summary: The look on his face is heartbreaking, all sharp angles and hardened glares, but you see the fear in his swirling gaze- hear the tremors in his voice as he extends a webbed hand towards you, the paleness of his skin looking whiter than usual.“Come with me.” He commands- no, begs.But you can't- no matter how badly you wish to be with him once again. There’s still one thing left to do. The moment you finally stand up instead of lying down. No more running.So you let go of him, turn with outstretched arms, and face the blade from your nightmares.“You won't hurt him anymore.”
Relationships: Corvo Attano/Jessamine Kaldwin (mentioned only), Emily Kaldwin/Wyman, The Outsider (Dishonored)/Original Character(s), The Outsider/Reader, The Outsider/You
Comments: 55
Kudos: 76





	1. Opportunity

**Author's Note:**

> Hello fellow Dishonored fans ~! I noticed there's a distinct lack of Outsider / Reader fics on the internet and I was especially shocked to find out that there are no (as far as I'm aware) Mermaid!AU's for this series- which is ridiculous given the game's abundance of sea-related symbolism and magic so naturally...here we go!
> 
> Also, this is a modern AU. Meaning, it's still the same Isles as in the games with magic and the Void, but with modern technology in a contemporary world. Also, there's no reigning Empress/Emperor or even an Outsider in the game's usual sense. Both exist in a different way...
> 
> This series takes occasional dark turns and may feature scenes with violence or domestic/physical abuse. Those chapters will have obvious warnings beforehand, in the form of beginning notes- so watch out for those.

_\- The day has come, and you’ve finally graduated from the Academy. You have it all: the loving family, a master’s degree in your field, the dream job, all the tools at your fingertips and more...yet something just isn’t right. Why do these nightmares feel like omens? -_

It felt strange, descending the monumental steps. The swirling, marble patterns underfoot becoming second nature in those six long years. A mix of bittersweet emotions overwhelm you as you cast a final glance through the open entrance of the Academy of Natural Philosophy. It feels like only yesterday you had climbed their stairs for the first time. Young and meek, with only your brains, quick wit, and a strictly planned budget to get you started on your own. With every long night of studying and extensive day in the student laboratories did your time grow easier and easier, until this very moment. Graduation.

You take a deep breath, eyes falling across the gated community of students and bright minds alike, all going about their day. The ceremony had just finished up, leaving some lingering families and friends in the courtyard, alongside their respective graduates- now turned alumni. A celebratory event attended by the highest academy officials and even the High Overseer himself. The former being a supposed gesture of “support and respect” between the Abbey and regular Gristol-goers. You’ve never really liked the Overseers. Something about the shining masks they insist on wearing...upsets you. It's hard to place your finger on, but their presence is off putting. It's not like your family was ever the religious types- what few years you spent with them- so naturally the philosophy of the Abbey is one you’ve avoided, by extension.

But beside the strangers among you, you still haven't found _your_ guests of honor…

Yet that is precisely the moment when you spot a familiar shade of purple and blue, minging among a crowd of high class snobs (aka your fellow alumni). Your steps quicken, taking you closer to find- hopefully- the one person who could put you at ease right now.

_“Isn't that the CEO?”_

_“I wonder if she’s recruiting new graduates…”_

You ignore their whispers, a fond smile growing on your face as you push past them to find your old friend. She’s just as you saw her months ago, last spring break. The perfect posture, her favorite coat with the gold embellishments, hair tied up- not a strand out of place-

“Emily-” you start, hesitating as most surrounding eyes are drawn towards yourself. A brief moment of tension washes over you; discomfort. The moment Emily’s eyes light up, her polite smile turning more genuine in a sign of familiarity- that’s the moment your peers glare and sneer. Micro-expressions that are gone as quickly as they appear. Unseen by a regular, untrained eye. For you, however, it's an all-too-familiar expression. Like you’re one of the lab rats you were forced to cut open in biology class- pinned beneath cold, calculating eyes.

She calls your name in response, turning to nod politely towards her previous conversation partners, “Excuse me for now, and congratulations again.” Your fellow graduates smile in response, shifting away from you both with obvious disappointment.

You steel yourself, focusing only on Emily until the jealous graduates leave your presence. She sends a sympathetic smile your way, but doesn't comment on the tension, which you're grateful for. If there’s anyone more aware of false masks than yourself, it’s certainly Emily Kaldwin. Being the inheritor of such a prevalent company- no telling how many people would try to manipulate her simply for a high position.

Emily tilts her head slightly, enough to catch your attention as she says, “You’re finally graduating, how does it feel?”

You sigh, immediately giving into her relaxed demeanor, “I am absolutely exhausted, frankly,”

Emily snorts. A hand landing on my shoulder before she can reply. I flinch at the weight of it, but I’m quickly eased as Corvo comes into view, taking position beside his daughter. His expression is strictly neutral, but there’s a certain tell in his gaze that betrays how genuine he’s being when he addresses you, “Congrats, kid.”

You easily see past the gruffness in his tone- something you got used to a very long time ago. Emily mirrors your grin, before it settles into her usual formal role.

“Ah, leaving so soon?” Yet another inquisitive voice calls from beside us.

You sigh inwardly. This was great and all, but the graduation ceremony was dragged out and beaten to dust. From dawn your class was pushed outside to rehearse and you’ve been standing up in this silly graduation gown ever since. To say you were feeling somewhat impatient to leave would be the understatement of the century.

You loved (and at times hated) your time at the Academy, but enough was enough. Certainly six long years proved that much. You really don't whine very often...but you just want to sit down and perhaps sleep- maybe forever.

High Overseer Khulan strides over, a content smile on his unmasked face, “I won't keep you long, don't worry-” (you really hope you don't look as tired as you feel- only so much makeup could be plastered over your eyebags before you looked like a circus clown) “-however I make it a point to congratulate as many alumni as possible, post-ceremony.”

You’ve seen Overseer Khulan before on TV or during his public speeches and talks at the Academy. As far as the men of the Abbey go, he seems genuine. Almost kind even; and Corvo has had only good things to say of the man, so if he’s alright in Corvo Attano’s book, he’s alright in yours as well.

The three masked Overseers behind him however exude pride- perhaps even arrogance. You’ll admit, again, that you just don't like Overseers much- so maybe it's just the masks. But even from where you stand you can tell they aren't smiling beneath the cool metal. You decide to focus on Khulan instead.

You share a quick handshake, a polite smile rising upon your cheeks, “Thank you very much, High Overseer Khulan. The ceremony was everything we dreamed it would be.”

“Well I should hope so. Six years in the making,” he chuckles, before nodding towards Emily and Corvo, “Ah, Miss Kaldwin. Taking your pick of the latest brilliant minds, I see?”

Emily nods, everything about her carrying an ease and grace you could never exude- years and years of practice you suppose- “Empire Industries is always looking for new talent. However this one is an old friend of mine,” she squeezes your shoulder as she says this, “so this year our attendance is more personal than business-oriented.”

Khulan nods along, a smile never falling from his face, “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed the day then,” he looks toward you again, “I assume you’ll be working together after this?”

You nod, still pointedly ignoring his entourage of silent, masked men, “Yes, I’ve already interned with Empire’s marine research teams, so chances are I’ll take up a more permanent position there soon.”

Emily smiles a little wider, a gleam in her eye that betrays her giddiness. You find yourself suddenly curious, but you’re drawn back towards the High Overseer who nods and straightens himself out, “It’s always a treasure, this time of year. Seeing all the promising minds of the future. Congratulations again, on behalf of the Abbey and myself.”

You share brief goodbyes before being pulled away by Emily, a youthful smile on her face that reminds you so much of when you were children.

“Come on, let’s go. We have dinner at 7.”

“Um, where exactly?” You stutter, blinking numbly as she guides you along. Emily smiles toward her father, who nods in response, walking a few feet ahead of them.

“Your favorite. My kitchen, my treat. A quiet dinner to catch up,” she provides, and a giddy smile breaks out on your face.

“What about my stuff? And can I at least change out of this thing?” You grimace, pulling at the embroidered and accented red gown. A shower would be nice, too…

“Samuel is already on that, with some other staff,” Corvo grumbles ahead of you both, reaching the street where a sleek black car is waiting. He opens the back door, standing stoic beside it.

Emily peeks around you before hopping in, “There’ll be time before dinner, and you can get changed back at the estate…”

~~~

You have never been so excited to eat in your entire life. Your table manners are almost forgotten as a beautiful plate of your favorite meal is placed gently before you. To a college student- or technically _former_ student- this was a feast beyond feasts. Surviving long, cold nights in the lab with only an espresso machine and backpack full of granola bars had become your norm for five years. It was like wandering through a dark abyss until finally finding the light.

You pick a morsel up on your fork, eyes glittering in awe and mouth already watering. A quick bite...and it’s like you’ve ascended. You’d cry happy tears if you didn't worry about Corvo and Emily thinking you were absolutely mad.

Emily smirks across the long dining room table at you, her own meal steaming and beautiful in its own right. Normally you’d have the decency to be embarrassed, but you’re far too exhausted by this time in the day, so you allow her this victory.

Corvo eats beside you both, quiet as usual, but still just as present.

Your childhood friend and adoptive sibling allows you a few quiet minutes of chewing and recharging before leaning in to tease you, “Does the Academy of Natural Philosophy have a lacking cafeteria?”

You hum around a bite, swallowing before you answer, “Why do you say that?”

“Because you’re eating like a starving man.” She simply states, subtly tapping the corner of her own mouth. You blush and quickly wipe away the crumbs left on your own cheek, rolling your eyes, “It has been a _long_ day- give me this at least, Emily.”

She grins in response, taking another bite of her own dinner. There’s mirthful, comfortable silence between you three another moment. “Well, then enjoy your food and just listen.”

You raise a curious brow, watching with split interest between her and your plate as she goes on. “Of course, as we previously discussed, you’ll be offered a position with my company, however I'd like to offer you a... _special_ role.”

She shares a glance with her father, who remains quiet. “I know you well, and you’re incredibly passionate. Intelligent. Driven for knowledge, and most of all I know _I can trust you.”_

Her words were sweet of course, but also laced with something more serious. Was it that common for those under her vast employment to try and trick their way to the top? Apparently so, given the sudden far off look Emily sends past my shoulder. She shakes her head of invisible thoughts, cutting to the chase, rather suddenly, “I want you to take on the position of Head Director of Marine Research.”

Your eyes widen, pausing before swallowing carefully around the lump in your throat. How can she say that like it's nothing? As if it's not several steps ahead of what you previously assumed you’d start with? It almost feels...wrong. By the Void, that job would make you third in command at the company!

“Emily,” you start, toying with your fork sheepishly, “I don't know if I’m qualified for that, I mean…”

“Nonsense,” she waves you off, cutting into her next bite of fish, “I trust you and all you have to offer the company. You know it better than any other employee. Besides, you were at the top of both Sokolov’s recommendations list and your overall class ranked GPA, right?”

“B-but what about Dr. Turnbull?”

Previously, the title of Head Director belonged to an older man by the name of James Turnbull. A sharp and brilliant man himself, but arrogant and greedy in personality. You don't have many fond memories from the time you spent under his watch as an intern, although you did learn much. Turnbull always seemed to be thinking ahead, always planning some other project than the ones agreed on by Empire Industries. At the mention of his name, Emily frowns in distaste, “He has been _let go-_ very recently. He locked himself out of the system while attempting to steal precious research. Security system caught him.” She takes a long drink from her glass, rolling her eyes as she does so, “We think he planned on selling it to our competitors. Not that he got far,”

You just nod, not completely sure of what to say mostly because you’re still wrapping your brain around the whole scenario. Emily’s warm smile catches your attention as she addresses you much more calmly, “All the more reason to give the position to you. Like I said, I trust you.”

With a sigh, your eyes fall to your plate, conflicted thoughts bouncing around in your mind. Are you ready for such a responsibility? Did Corvo sign off on this? He’s her Vice President after all.

As if the man can read your thoughts, he clears his throat, “I agree with Emily. You’re smart, and mature enough to handle the job. You’ve wanted to work together since you were children, right?”

“Of course,” you find yourself saying, sharing a smile with Emily across the table. The CEO leans forward, her hands crossed beneath her chin as she silently begs you- flashing her classic puppy-dog-eyes. _Dammit, why does that always work on you…_

“Just think about it,” she speaks up finally, a knowing smirk on her lips, “and if you come to me tomorrow still unsure, we can find you another position lower on the team- for experience, of course. But I want to do this for you, and I know you could never let me down.”

_That’s easy for her to say- she's the owner of the whole company. You’re barely two years younger than her, but barely out of the Academy._

You go to dig your fork in again, but find your plate empty- save for a few scraps. A huff leaves you as you struggle under their expectant gazes.

“I-” you try, swallowing air against a suddenly dry throat, “I’m unsure, Em- being thrown in so suddenly...and I’ve never been in charge of so many people-”

“The summer interns,” Emily provides, nodding to herself as she swirls her drink in its fancy, crystal glass, “they started a month or so ago, but with everything that happened with Turnbull, their project took a slight turn.”

You raise a brow, “you want me to work with them?”

“ _Lead_ them,” she corrects, “they’ll be partnering with some other researchers to rehabilitate a sick whale, as well as recording the usual measurements, vitals- those sort of things.”

You still feel skeptical, and Emily scoffs in response, “we used to sneak into the rehabilitation lab all the time as kids-” Corvo raises a brow, but his daughter pointedly ignores him, “-and at the Academy you specialized in Marine Biology. You’ve lived and breathed this kind of thing for years, just try the position out tomorrow, that’s all I ask.”

You lean back, looking between your family’s expectant faces before letting out a long sigh.

Emily was right, you had always been fascinated with the ocean and all the creatures that brought it to life. It started out as a hobby- collecting shells and seaglass, sneaking into the aquariums with Emily until being chased out by staff, and finally leading up to your days at the Academy of Natural Philosophy.

Hobbies turned into passions. A drive to explore and learn, while doing all you can to give back to a world that gave you meaning. Emily Kaldwin _knows_ you can't help but be tempted by her offer- for the experiences alone. The staff couldn't chase you out of the lab if it was _your_ lab, afterall. 

You nod and agree, taking a nervous sip of your drink.

_What could possibly go wrong?_

~~~

That night, you and Emily caught up more. Sitting in the comfortable sitting room of her estate until your eyelids felt like lead and the hearth burned out. You said your goodnights, shared a warm hug and went your separate ways for the night.

It’s been far too long since you’ve been in your own room. Even with your small personal space at the Academy, there was always one or two roommates snooping around the common spaces.

Here, you could breathe.

Your space is as large as any of the other master rooms on this floor of the manor. Against the rightmost wall is two large windows, framing the plush bed, and across from it against the left wall is a small fireplace, left unlit for now. Some comfortable seating is placed in front of it, a favorite spot of yours to nap or work on projects in privacy. Looking against the back, far wall is a tall aquarium. It starts from the floor and reaches almost the ceiling (which is saying something, considering the already high spaces in here), and the tank is about a foot and a half wide. Inside are cool-colored rocks and pastel colored corals. Small fish swim around every now and then, the water itself casting the room in a dull, cerulean hue. Flickers of shadow through water can be seen, dancing on the floors or up the curtains- almost as if the room itself were underwater. There are also smaller bookshelves beside the tank, to the right of that a small touch-screen panel.

It lights up under your touch, revealing several options for lighting and music in the room. You drag tired fingers down on the setting labeled _Tank Backlight_ , until the room is almost completely dark.

Looking around as you trudge to bed, you notice that the staff really kept everything neat and spotless. Not a speck of dust can be found on your shelves. All your luggage is stacked neatly beside the doorway, at the base of your closet- however you only have enough energy to pull out a loose t-shirt and shorts.

You barely remember wrestling with the many layers of air-pressed sheets. Finding a comfortable position (or perhaps more of a sprawl), you pass out in minutes…

…

All is quiet for a while.

Then, like a creeping sensation, a cold wind rises up the back of your neck. The hairs stand up straight, as if frozen that way.

The bed below you is suddenly hard as rock, and the soft ambiance of the fish tank has turned to rushing waves.

Your limbs protest, but you blink open your eyes and attempt to sit up where you lay. It's difficult, not only due to what feels like fatigue but your bones creak at the movement. Totally numb.

It's wrong. You don't know how you know this, but everything here feels _wrong_.

Looking around, you find yourself on an obsidian island, a dark swirling ocean surrounding you. There are other dark rocks, jutting out at a variety of different angles and points from the water below.

But that’s not the strangest part.

Some rocks are floating- and even the water itself pools together at certain points, leaking in streams into the sky. Which, now that you’ve noticed, doesn't seem like a sky at all. It's so dark here, and not the comfortable kind like your room. It's the kind of dark you’d find in a place far north like Tyvia. An eternal, unnaturally long kind of night. Yet, some sort of misty sunrise can be seen at the edges of the horizon, always lurking but never arriving.

You decide you don't like this place very much.

Suddenly with a gust of wind, your frame is racked with shivers. That prickly feeling comes back full force, sending your instincts on high alert.

You feel like...you’re being watched.

It's heavily uncomfortable. Somehow similar to the way your peers looked at you earlier this afternoon, when you were looking for Emily. As if you’re about to be preyed on in some way- or, no, it's more like...something bigger, more threatening than yourself…well you can't put an emotion to it other than cold _fascination_.

You flinch, brought out of your thoughts as your toes are frozen solid by the water, which is rising steadily.

You start to panic, through your exhausted haze. You can’t swim, despite your inherent love of all things aquatic. There’s almost always been a pane of glass or the wooden deck of a ship to keep you safe, but here there's nothing. Your tiny island will be swallowed up like a pebble to the tides.

Maybe if you find whoever is watching you, they could help? It's the only concept your sleeping brain can come up with but it's better than nothing. You look all around but to no avail.

Then it hits you. The emotion. An eagerness for opportunity _-_ but also...fear and mistrust- maybe even a little disgust. You feel it as if it's your own, burning in your stomach, and digging invisible claws into your ankles- you yelp suddenly- no, there’s something actually _grabbing your ankles._ You don't even get the chance to look down at your assailant- just as quick as their nails bite through skin, you’re dragged into an oncoming wave…

And left in darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spooky things are going on in Dunwall...These nightmares probably don't mean anything...right? Right.
> 
> But seriously, I hope you've enjoyed the first chapter in a long, suspenseful, and mysterious series! I honestly just want to give some love and support to our favorite Outsider- who will appear soon I promise~
> 
> Stay tuned for more!


	2. First Signs

_\- You experience your first day as Head Director, and immediately the pressure is on. But this is what you’ve always wanted, right? -_

Beyond the initial gates of the Empire Industries’ visitor’s hall are a handful of buildings- each serving a purpose for one of the many different arms of the company itself. Emily’s company, passed down from her mother and to her from her father, is massive. A prime example of what it means to have a legacy.

Empire Industries has made a name for itself at the forefront of any and all maritime advancements. Dedicated researchers advancing the frontiers of what the world knows is possible- through state of the art technology, energy science, and even understanding each and every creature that makes the sea its home. There are critics, as there always is, but even they can't deny the impact Empire Industries has made on the Isles.

The sheer scale of the company lives up to its namesake, that’s for sure. You don't know how Emily does it. After all that happened when you were young, she rose above it all. She had her father and she had you. Tied not by blood, but through a deeper bond rivaling that of siblings.

Looking at Emily now, as she addresses the small gathering of interns and scientists, it's hard to imagine her ever breaking down. She is so much stronger than you, yet she trusts you just as much. Believes you as strong as herself.

_No pressure or anything._

“Anything you’d like to say or add…?” Emily turns toward you, snapping you from your muddled thoughts _(how did you get here again? By the Void, you didn't get any sleep last night)._

You clear your throat, looking over the group before you- the group you were to lead on today’s assignments. Three interns, each peering into you curiously with varying degrees of interest. They all wore the company’s insignia over their white coat chest pocket- two swans facing a shield, topped with a crown- and carrying their papers and tablets for notes and data collection. The two scientists flanking them are dressed similarly, a name tag for each signifying their level of authority and preferred name. Thankfully they seem much more interested, smiling reassuringly towards you.

Despite being sleep deprived, you muster up an inner pep talk, smiling as warmly as possible. You offer you name, introducing yourself as the Director, “I look forward to working with you all.”

Emily’s phone begins to ring, the name on the front causing a frown to settle over her face. She nods toward you, giving you a quick pat on the shoulder, “You’ll have to excuse me, I have some meetings to attend. I trust you know what to do?”

You nod- although deep down an anxious voice begs for her to stay- and Emily excuses herself from the room.

There's an awkward pause as you gather yourself. You turn and nod towards the _(_ or would it be _your)_ staff, “Alright, where are the whales being held?”

One of the scientists has begun tapping away on her tablet, while the other nods toward the interns and turns away, “Section H2 of the rehab center, I’ll show you.”

It's been a year or two since you’ve been down these corridors, but you instantly remember why you love this area so much. From the entryway and visitor’s center, there are several branching hallways- spreading out in an arc. There are several sections, ranging in size and purpose. The beginning letters are the smallest labs- or rather smaller spaces for smaller marine animals. The further down the alphabet (A through H) the bigger the spaces and animals that are kept there. Of course, most subjects are here temporarily, either rescued or captured for harmless research before being released back into their natural habitats. Whales are so large, and potentially dangerous, so they’re more often than not observed in nature- a sharp contrast to the old ways.

You remember reading history books in primary school- or that specialized course in college that focused entirely on the history of whale oil. Even then it made you feel awful, reading about all the terrible, inhumane things people would do to them just to take what they wanted. You remember one day in your college history course you were learning about (in grotesque detail, might you add) the evolving ways in which butchers dissected whales in slaughterhouses, back two centuries or so. Watching old documentaries and seeing such close up photos- it made you so nauseous you had to sit for an hour in the nurse’s office. The next two weeks consisted of copious amounts of anti-acid medicine, just to get through that mid-term.

Thankfully, with modern technology such things were replaced and outlawed- much to the dismay of established meat processing industries. You thought it best that way, of course. Once a better energy source was found and could feasibly replace whale oil, the whale hunting industry slowly died out with it. If there’s ever a special need for whale oil in Gristol today, there are much more humane ways of extracting some, typically from whales recently deceased.

Empire Industries, back before the Kaldwins when it was a differently named company, pushed such advancements. Now, there’s time to actually explore the ocean, rather than exploit what we find on the surface.

It's an exciting time to be a marine biologist.

Approaching the end of the furthermost corridor, you’re all met with the large steel sign, printed with the bold characters H2. The thick glass doors leading in are opaque, and locked tightly. You stand there a moment before realizing the group has stopped behind you, awaiting further instruction. You jump to attention, placing your open palm over the reader beside the door. There's a brief whirr and the doors click open.

This section of the rehabilitation center is enormous- since it's where whales are specifically kept. It's somewhat like a warehouse, but with a glass domed ceiling, the space itself reaching a football field in length. Along the left side of the room are various tank controls and tables for engineering or sorting special tools. There are three different slots in this room for whales to fit into, although only two are filled at the moment. Two whales on either side of the lab are suspended within water, a generous amount submerging them with surrounding walkways for staff.

It's been a while since you’ve heard it, but now that you’ve walked closer it's clear as day. Both whales are letting out noise, calling out in low tones. It's startling up close, the clear strength behind it- although the calls themselves aren't aggressive in any way.

You turn toward the head scientist of the group, who inspects the first whale, who’s space is labeled 1, “How long have they been here?”

He hums to himself, pushing his glasses further up his nose, “Well, whale number 1 has been here only a week- tangled up in poacher nets…whale 2 however is sick with something we haven't quite identified.” He gestures over to the computer screen beside the whale pen, where several lines of notes are typed in for reviewing, “Washed up in the Wrenhaven, if you’ll believe it.”

“This far inland?” That’s unheard of. Very strange behavior for a whale, considering they tended to stay as far from humans as possible.

Thinking the same thing apparently, the scientist nods, his brows scrunched up in thought, “Peculiar, yes. We’ve done surface checks, but there’s no signs of foul play yet- no net scratches or puncture wounds- it might be an internal issue.”

You think back through your studies at the Academy. Over your five years there came many times when you would be given a hypothetical situation, oftentimes very detailed. On the other hand, you never had to tell people what to do…

“Hm…” you hum, struggling to maintain eye contact with your awaiting interns. It's still strange being in charge of them, considering they were about your age- give or take a year younger. You peer down at their nametags, “Uh, Irene, I want you and...Micha to check on whale number 1’s surrounding water flow. If they’re sick, keeping a clean environment is a must before any other recordings-”

“Uh, Doctor?” The male scientist speaks up once more, “Whale number 2 is the sick whale. Number 1 has the external wounds.”

You blink, “oh, well reverse that then…um…” you clear your throat and try to carry on, catching the flat look two of the interns share. You look to the remaining intern, a short boy with wide, curious eyes. You read his nametag and nod along, still embarrassed, “George, you’ll come with me and-” you look to the male scientist, who smiles stiffly, “Dr. Hargreaves, Director.”

You nod, “with me and Dr. Hargreaves. We’ll check on the sick whale.”

“I'm sorry, what should we do?” Irene speaks up for the first time. Her expectant, authoritative tone nearly causes you to flinch.

“You, Micah and-” (this time you get a glance in at the last scientist’s name without needing to ask) “-Dr. Gallahan should check number 1’s vitals on the monitor. See if you can get them to eat and run some scans on their injuries while they’re distracted.”

Thankfully she doesn't argue, and the three walk off with curt nods. You sigh inwardly, that tired weight from before pulling even more on your shoulders.

_Just carry on. It was only a little slip-up, anyone’s nervous on their first day._

“Director?” Dr. Hargreaves calls and you snap to attention.

“Let’s begin, shall we?” You nod and lead them down the walkway to pen number 2.

As if hearing your approaching steps, the whale- previously still- begins to move ever so slightly, shifting its weight and tail underwater. The water in this pen is deep enough to submerge the animal, but allow it to breach for air when it desires. However, to get a closer look you’ll have to raise it more…

You look over the controls beside the pen. It’s similar to machinery you’ve used while at the academy. A fairly simple pulley system that supports the whale and lifts it from the pen. This way, you could move it to observe more carefully or release it into the much larger pool of seawater, just over the edge of the walkway.

Looking to George, you walk over to the control panel, “George, would you mind watching the water levels as I raise them up?”

The intern jumps, having been staring intently at the whale (you briefly wonder if he’s ever seen a whale this close before). “Yes, of course,” he chirps, stepping beside Dr. Hargreaves who begins explaining how to read the neighboring monitor.

Placing your hand over the controls, the screen lights up, enhancing on several options. You start out slow, raising the pulley so that only half of the whale is out of the water. With an affirmative chime the wheels begin to turn and run above you. Specially strong wires begin to move, pulling tight around the whale. Slowly they rise, and in response the whale flinches, fins moving about in (if you had to guess) confusion. You sigh, silently promising to work quickly for the poor thing.

Now at eye level, the sheer scale between you and the whale becomes so much more obvious. Especially with its calls rising in volume, unmuffled by the water. At first it seems almost aggressive with the way it grumbles in the sling- but hopefully you can fix that soon.

“How’s the water in the pen?” You ask, and George answers- casting a glance toward the other scientist- “All clean. The filters are still fairly new,”

“Good,” you sigh, grabbing your own tablet and approaching the pen slowly.

Nothing seemed out of place yet. No external marks or injuries. So maybe it ate something bad? But even if it had, a simple stomach ache doesn't cause a whale to beach itself. That would require an enormous amount of stress, and no other options.

“What are you feeding them?”

Dr. Hargreaves taps his chin in thought, bending down to inspect the whale’s half-submerged belly, “A blend of things they’d find in the wild; kelp and some smaller fish meat. All combined with added vitamins, of course.”

“Uh, Miss?” George speaks up, peeking around to get your attention. As you turn towards him he continues, “What...is this?”

You follow his gaze, finding a curious...rash? No it appeared almost like a splash of black ink, beneath the skin. All around the eye was black splotches beneath the skin, making the whale seem much paler than it already was. Dark tendrils reached out, like wounds under the skin. Not to mention this eye- the side previously hidden to you upon entering the room- is dilated and glazed over, as if not really seeing you.

You don't even know what to say. This sort of pigmentation is...unnatural, to say the least. There was never anything like this in your studies.

Slowly, in your peripheral, a pale hand reaches out to touch the blackened skin. George’s eyes are wide, looking as if…

“George,” You try, mustering as strong a voice as possible. He doesn't hear you, still leaning towards the whale, who’s grumbling song has raised slightly in tempo.

When it becomes apparent that George won't stop, you reach up and snatch his wrist. His entire form flinches, as if doused in cold water. He blinks and pulls away from you, suddenly flushing in embarrassment.

“I-I apologize, Director, I-I didn't mean to, I just heard-”

“Director, everything alright?” Hargreaves walks around to your side of the whale. He looks to you both then spies the black splotches under the subject’s skin. The doctor does a double take- eyes wide- before striding over, “By the Sirens, what is this?”

While you still felt confused- and slightly unnerved- by George’s behavior a moment ago, Dr. Hargreaves’ response seemed much more shocking.

“Is _this_ new?” You ask, pointing in a general circle over the afflicted area. The doctor blinks, immediately going to write on his tablet with the attached electric pencil, “I just came to see him yesterday, this wasn't there, I assure you.”

There’s a heavy pause, only broken by the sudden clashing of metal on metal- and across the room some sort of commotion. There’s a splashing and sudden aggregated groaning of the whale one pen over.

Carrying yourself as fast as possible, you turn the corner to find the two interns- Irene and Micha- arguing over the controls, with Dr. Gallahan nowhere in sight.

“What happened?” You ask, but are drowned out by the sounds of chaos- that or they’re outright ignoring you.

Irene sneers toward Micha, “I told you to check the balance-”

“I did,” Micha snaps back, “your measurements were wrong.”

You sigh, pushing past them while they’re distracted to fix the pulley system, which has malfunctioned- according to the several notifications on screen. You take in the information on the monitor and the (slightly) lopsided whale above you all. Irene and/or Micha put in the wrong weight-to-water measurements, resulting in a very irritated whale.

It only takes a few careful adjustments, before the pulleys reset and lower the whale back into the water. As it does, the groaning and calling gets so loud that it- combined with the arguing behind you- makes your head pound.

“See? It's fine. I don't understand why you can't just admit you were wrong-”

Micha scoffs, “Surely you aren't still trying to blame that on me? I saw you carelessly toying with the controls.”

Irene narrows her eyes to slits, an offended gasp leaving her lips, “Are you implying I’m some control freak?”

“Guys, quit it-” you start but are stunned as Irene turns on you, too.

“You’re still here?” She asks, rolling her eyes. You’re so surprised by her bitter question you don't respond immediately. She takes your silence as leeway to continue, “You’re about our age, right? I saw you graduate just two days ago. You don't know any more than we do, so don't just assume I’ll _bow down_ to you or anything.”

She scoffs one last time, pushing past you with a light shove, “You didn't even earn that badge.”

You don't think you were supposed to hear that last remark, but it stings all the same. Micha watches on but says nothing, content to glare at Irene’s back until she slams the door behind her.

“Don't mind Irene,” he finally mutters, “she’s always like that. A _superiority_ _complex_.”

You just nod numbly, ashamed at the way your fingertips shake in response to her raised voice. You’ve never handled conflict very well...it reminds you too much of being young and small and so _aggravatingly_ helpless. A glorified doormat.

You take a deep breath in...and out...

_No time for that now._

You look back toward the whale, who has since calmed down somewhat, and is being fed by Hargreaves. George watches him and the whale, his arms crossed somewhat defensively. There’s something shaken behind his expression, that much you can gleam.

“Where is Dr. Gallahan?” You ask, turning back to find Micha typing into his notes.

“Hm? Oh, uh I’m not sure,” he shrugs, barely paying attention, “she said she got a call she had to take- explained to us the controls quickly- then left for her lunch…”

You run a hand over your face and through your hair.

The weight grows heavier and heavier it seems…

~~~

Later that evening, you drag yourself into the dining room and share a meal with Emily and Corvo as usual, exchanging exciting stories of the day.

Although she’s obviously trying to conceal her excitement, Emily has a certain expectant shine in her gaze. She needs her answer soon on whether or not I’d seriously take the job...but first things first, she needs to know about the strange sickness down in the rehabilitation center. Normally such trivial matters would be an easy fix- examination, determining proper treatment, possible therapy, and then releasing it back into the ocean. However, there’s something about that whale and the inky splotches beneath its skin that worries you- _unsettles you._ If there’s some strange disease being contained within her own company she should know about it.

Also you’re more than happy to avoid telling her about your staff who, more or less, outright ignored your orders, resulting in some chaos. As petty as it seems thinking out loud, you have _some_ pride to keep. Besides, as you thought earlier, everyone has their bad first days.

You stare into your wine glass, the dark, burgundy liquid swirling like your own distant thoughts.

“So, how are the whales?” Emily provides after the regular conversation dies down.

You swallow the lump in your throat and meet her head on, “Did you know that the second whale was sick?” Emily shakes her head in response, although her interest seems suddenly peaked. Corvo continues eating on his side of the long table, seemingly distracted.

Continuing, you recall the examination (leaving out all else that happened after that, of course). The whale’s strange appearance on the riverbank, dilated eye and accompanying splotches beneath the skin around it.

“...we don't know if it’s contagious yet,” you take a sip of your drink, eyes still drawn toward your food, “but we’ll run some more tests and watch for further development.”

Corvo speaks up for the first time in at least 10 minutes, the gruffness almost startling you, “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

You finally look up, and find yourself surprised by their reactions. Corvo’s posture and expression are relatively neutral, but there’s a tell-tale tilt to his brow that betrays how unsettled he is. Cautious, perhaps. Emily also exudes the sudden tension of her father, but there’s a much more obvious worried look in her eye. The room itself is thick with something they know and you don't.

You slowly shake your head, still confused as to why they were reacting so gravely, “N-no, I’ve never seen a rash like this before- if you can call it that. It's under the skin, black like...a dark burn, almost?”

There’s a stagnant pause, then Emily nods with a sigh, pushing her plate away gently. She looks to her father, then to you- much more softly as she asks the room,

“Anyone feeling like a little dessert?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally getting into the main plot~ A mysterious black rash...that can't be anything good, can it?  
> I'm quite excited with where this story will spiral into, and I hope you are too! Get ready for next week's chapter because it is a BIG one...


	3. Sirens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go~

_\- You’re familiar with the merpeople that the Abbey of the Everyman fear. The Leviathans of the deep sea and Void beyond. But that’s all they’ve ever been. Just myths...right? -_

The next week carries on the same way.

You’re slowly becoming accustomed to all the responsibilities that come with your (recently _officially_ accepted) new, fancy title. _Director of Marine Research_. The neat, sans serif text shines up at you each and every morning, accompanying your name and Empire ID, as well as a small picture of yourself. As far as official pictures go, it’s certainly not the worst you’ve seen of yourself- although all you see is a half-smile and eye bags. It’s sterile and serves its purpose, and that’s all that matters.

Just like how you have to focus and do your job.

You’re still having the same nightmares, varying only in small details each night, but it’s always generally the same. You find yourself in a strange, cold place- void of any life- surrounded by a sea of black water. Sometimes the scenery changes, but in the end you’re always attacked and dragged down into the depths. Frustrating, that even though you’ve come to anticipate these dreams, it always feels like the first time you’ve seen the visions- and every night you fall the same way, never able to stop it.

Even more frustrating, however, is the fact that these night terrors are starting to affect your daily life. After waking up and sluggishly dressing yourself, you down enough dark coffee to kill a small mammal, hurry to eat a quick breakfast (which is always fresh and delivered up to your room so that’s technically a pro not a con), then head to the rehabilitation and research labs to be pushed around by your rather immature interns. The adult scientists treat you with basic respect of course, but it only extends so far. You’re not an idiot. You know they don’t outwardly disrespect you simply because you’re the one signing their paychecks now that you’ve taken over after Turnbull's controversial termination. With everything stirred up in and outside of the company, it would be unwise to question the CEO’s choices.

Speaking of, you’re in the middle of visiting whales for their daily checkup when your phone starts ringing. You exchange quick words with two nearby staff and pick up the call, a few steps away.

Emily’s voice came on the other end, her smile clear even through the receiver, “Hey, you want to have a drink?”

You stifle a yawn, eyes drawn toward the steel clock across the room. How was it already 6 in the afternoon? On a friday night, nonetheless.

The staff seem to have it covered, and the two interns- Irene and Micha- have already gone home (George hasn’t come into work in the last two days).

Surely you’ve earned yourself a break.

“Sure, why not.”

...

While your room is in the same wing as Emily’s in the estate, her’s is much more extravagant. It certainly lives up to the name of _master._ The room itself is segmented in two, with her bedroom and personal space on one side and on the other a small entertainment space, separated by a collapsable, opaque screen wall.

The entertainment area is cozy with a large fireplace and surrounding furniture. Off beside the tall, decorated windows is a wet bar. The wall beside it is stacked high with alcohol of all shapes and colors, matching glassware hung on wooden, carved racks.

It had been her mother’s room once. Bittersweet memories, although mostly sweet. Still, being in here made you miss Jessamine. Afterall she was like a mother to you.

“I never knew you could make a drink like this,” you ponder aloud, taking another sip of your own sweet cocktail.

Emily glances over her shoulder at you, occupied making her own concoction, “The last time I traveled to Morley to visit Wyman, they showed me a few basic things. From there, I looked up more,” she sighs, turning to join you on the opposite couch, “ _mixology..._ a silly hobby.”

You scoff, playfully narrowing your eyes at her over the rim of your glass, “Emily, there is nothing _silly_ about this-” Your childhood friend snorts a laugh as you promptly take a big swig- shivering at the smack of alcohol.

“Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Emily hums in response, leaning back with some of the snacks you both had gathered and set out on the coffee table. She had offered to forego your regular dinner at the table, and instead enjoy a quiet evening- a sort of ‘kid’s night’. It felt...fun. Like when you were both kids having a slumber party. When you were studying hard at the Academy, there was hardly time for such activities- not that there was anyone to have one with anyway. Most of your peers were always so stuck-up and smug, having come from big, rich families; you never bonded with them outside the classroom. You’ve never been one of them, having your _lesser_ background- and the only reason you could attend at all was because of the Kaldwins.

You take a big (possibly messy but you’re too buzzed to care anymore) bite from your nachos, looking up to make a joke about said nachos when you’re stopped by her expression. Emily seems to have lost herself to her own thoughts in the silence. Her mouth is pulled into a thin line, eyes glued to her hands which grip the sides of her own cocktail.

You sit up slowly, setting aside your drink, “Em, you okay?”

Emily doesn’t startle or meet your gaze, but you see recognition flash over her briefly before she sighs and shakes her head. You wait, giving her a moment to reply.

When she doesn’t, you dare to ask, “Are you and Wyman...okay?”

She blinks at that, finally looking up to wave a hand dismissively, “Oh, no no- that’s not it,” she smiles then adds more quietly, “although I wish I could see them more,”

There’s another pause. This time you can see words formulating behind her eyes. Uncertainty in the way her hands turn her glass around and around. Then, finally, she sets it all down in front of her and leans forward, elbows resting on her knees. Subconsciously, you mirror her, drawn into her serious tone- despite the distant buzzing in your head (you needed a glass of water, but that could come later).

“Do you believe in Sirens?” she asks out of the blue.

You stare at her, muddled brain slowly connecting the dots.

“Sirens?”

Emily nods, but you continue to stare, “As in _the_ sirens?” She pauses, then nods again.

She couldn't possibly mean the same Sirens you were thinking of. Yet, she seemed _very_ serious.

Sirens were, as far as the legends go, an ancient cousin to humans. Merpeople who thrived in an unknown world unreachable by our own at the deepest depths of the sea. Some say they have whole floating cities hidden by magic while others claim that Sirens live half in our world and half in the Void like whales. Regardless of which tale you were taught, there isn't a soul in the whole of the Isles who hasn't heard at least one version. Using their name in common slang or in the occasional metaphor has become second nature in today’s world- despite no real proof to such a creature’s existence.

Supposedly they’re still out there, occasionally showing themselves to sailors- delirious- out at sea. Or, if you choose to believe the Abbey of the Everyman, Sirens- otherwise known to them as _Leviathans_ \- are harbingers of destruction. Creatures of sin and black magic traced from the Void itself. Children are told dark tales about Leviathans, to keep them in line, and they’ve become a part of the culture of the Isles themselves. Evil spirits, the Overseers call them, twisted beings that tempt the hearts of men under the guise of human features. Only to drag them to their watery deaths and carve trinkets from the victim’s bones.

You always wanted to roll your eyes when you’d pass an Overseer giving a speech in the courtyard of the Academy. Praising themselves over supposedly protecting the good Gristolian people from creatures that may or may not even exist.

Silly, childish myths to stay in power- you told yourself.

As a child however, you will admit you did believe in them, but not in the same Sirens as the Abbey protested. You liked to daydream about the ocean, swimming with a long tail of your own. Exploring without an end goal- _an escape_. Wondering how the scales would shine in the light underwater (would they sparkle? Or glimmer like a soft rainbow?), and wishing to swim like them.

Of course, as you’ve grown into an adult- now 23 and almost 24 in two months- you dismiss them as just that. Myth.

Yet, Emily seems very interested in your response. So you answer honestly…

“I...I’m not sure.” You sheepishly reply, a hand coming up to rub the back of your neck. It feels embarrassing to say outloud- after all you’re a scientist and engineer. You’ve built your career on logic and cold hard facts, yet maybe it's the dreamer in you- that stubborn street kid- that just can't say _no._

Emily doesn't laugh at you or sneer like you expect her to, she simply nods once more, distracted once more in her own train of thought. You nervously stand and make your way to the bar-

“I haven't scared you off, have I?” Emily jokes, but behind her lopsided smile is genuine concern.

You grin, nervously, as you grasp the couch to stay balanced, “I’m just getting some water. Something tells me I’m gonna wanna be sober for this conversation.” You take pride in the way Emily’s mask breaks and she laughs- genuinely. Not too hard, but enough for her light shoulder shakes to become contagious.

You fumble with the water jug in the corner fridge, still smiling to yourself. “So what brought this up?”

Emily hums to herself, and you imagine she’s wringing her hands together again, anxiously. She could have all the masks she wanted, but you knew the girl behind the face of Empire Industries CEO. An adventurous and at times headstrong girl, young at heart who loved late night nachos and lighthearted pranks. You knew her better than that, and she you.

“What if Sirens did exist?” She starts, sounding much more relaxed than a moment prior, “Like any other sea creature- common as a crab- or those whales you love so much...what would you do?”

 _“What would I do?”_ You echo, trying way too hard to pour water into your fresh glass, “Are you asking me or the _Director of Marine Research_?” While speaking your title, you put on a fake accent- the one that can be summed up as sounding like a ‘pompous nobleman’. Emily snorts behind you, chuckling.

“A hypothetical question for both, if you wouldn't mind,”

“Hmm…” you take a long drink of water, mulling over your answer. “Well, your most highly entrusted _Director_ would tell you that they’d love to observe the Siren. Learn as much as they- _err-_ can…” another sip closer to sobriety, “but from me…” you think another beat, “I’d want to talk to them. Learn about them on a personal level, not just an intellectual one.” You swallow, unable to stop the rambling that flows from your lips, “Ask them about the sea, and if it's like I imagined when I was a kid…”

Turning with your water, you’re startled by the look on Emily’s face. It can be described as nothing short of determined. Whatever had been troubling her, she apparently has made up her mind.

As Emily stands, taking steps away from the couch, you watch with wide eyes. Would she laugh at you? You know she thinks just as little of the Overseers as you do but still, what you just admitted was blasphemous- what if she fires you or worse, kicks you out? Would she?

As your anxious, influenced brain rattles on in lengthy, unrealistic possibilities, Emily watches you a moment longer.

Finally, she extends a hand, her hard look softening slightly.

“I have to show you something.”

…

  
  


This late at night the Kaldwin Estate is dead quiet, save for the chirping of crickets outside or brushing of winds over the exterior gardens. Emily leads you out of her room in somewhat of a hurry- why, you are uncertain. Thankfully you have the brain capacity to grab your water glass on the way out and have been sipping it as you go.

Neither of you speak as you follow her through the winding hallways of the manor. Down the hall, descending the master staircase, taking a sharp right towards the kitchens, passing the dining hall and eventually finding yourselves in the hallway between the living room and library.

Emily approaches the doors to the library, casting the first look back at you in whole minutes. Her expression is calm, but focused as her hand lingers on the curling golden handle.

“When I show you this, you just have to hear me out, okay?” She speaks quietly, as if afraid of any other listeners, although you’re certain all the caretakers have left for the day. You nod.

She spares a small smile and pushes open the door, “Alright, good. Just over-”

Emily stops dead in her tracks, causing you to nearly walk into her.

“Where are you going?” Asks a deep, suspicious voice you’d know anywhere. Although it sounds more like an accusation coming from him.

Peeking around Emily, you meet eyes with Corvo, who is sitting in the middle of the room. His chair is facing the doorway, illuminated by an antique lamp. The space around him is occupied by stacks of books and documents. He sighs and sets down a pen he had been holding, “Go back to bed,”

Emily bristles, “I’ve decided, Corvo, they can help us.”

Corvo crosses his arms in a perfect mirror of his daughter’s, “ _You_ decided. I thought this was _our_ problem to solve?”

“You proposed this in the first place,” Emily huffs.

“We never finished that conversation,” her father replies back with just as much curtness- his eyes flicking to you briefly. Corvo Attano and Emily Kaldwin are both steel walls- polished, sharp, and unmoving. ‘ _Like father, like daughter,’_ you muse, distantly.

“Emily,” Corvo tries again, dark eyes made even colder in the harsh lighting, “if we can avoid getting people involved, I’d prefer that.”

If Emily is intimidated at all, she doesn't show it (although you certainly flinch at his tone), “If things progress as they are, they’re _already_ involved,”

Corvo waits, seeming to sense that this is a losing battle, “I don't want them- _either of you-_ to get hurt.”

“Um…” you peek around Emily again, struggling not to flinch or stutter under their intense gazes, “should I step out for a minute or..?”

“No.” Emily commands, standing firm but grasping your wrist in a gentle hold. She tugs you along, swiftly guiding you both towards the rightmost wall of the library. “You’re safer knowing, anyway.”

Somewhere behind you Corvo sighs, his chair creaking as he- presumably- gets up to follow you. Emily doesn't miss a beat, leading you until you both stand between the furthest shelves in the corner of the room. She steps forward, dropping your hand to raise her own. Her signet ring flashes under the moonlight, the intricate symbol on top matching the company’s logo. Removing a book from the shelf, Emily raises her ring and presses it into an indent in the wall. Her ring clicks perfectly into the mold, turning and sending a series of creaks through the wall. Mechanisms turn until the shelf itself jolts and slides away.

Behind the shelf is a long hallway with metallic walls, lit only by small bulbs in the ceiling. At the very end of the hall is a reinforced door- but before that can fully register in your brain, you’re turning toward Emily with wide eyes.

“What the fuck? How- how long has this been here?”

Emily’s lip turns up in an amused smirk as she shakes her head, “Don't look at me, I only learned about this-” she flashes her ring at you, “-two weeks ago,”

As she steps through the doorway, you turn, incredulous, to Corvo. He simply shrugs, expression still as stone but eyes a touch softer, “It was made originally by Jessamine’s father, Euhorn. When he took the company.”

Expecting more of an explanation and getting no response, you sigh, trudging along after Emily.

The walk feels much longer than it really is, but that’s probably due to the fact that you’re now _very_ aware of what’s going on. Your interest may be through the roof, but you’ll admit you’re as equally anxious. Their argument before about getting you involved is a little concerning. Whatever it is that Emily is so hellbent on showing you must be dangerous, that much you can gleam from earlier. Something dangerous that you could potentially offer advice on, however. Yet, Corvo still had some reservations, as he stated.

He saw you as a child of his own in a way- how could he not- after helping to take you in and raise you with Emily after…

Well, the point is, something happened shortly before your graduation day. Something dangerous that they knew you could help them with but decided to wait until they were sure. You’re being roped into something- just beyond this steel door.

Guesses as to what might lie behind its several automatic locks begin to run through your head, faster than you can articulate. Could it be some sort of prototype machine? Emily had been spending extra funding on potential energy sources. Or perhaps it’s some sort of marine animal? Hopefully not sick with whatever is infecting the whale in the lab. Maybe it’s a competitor’s technology? Although Empire Industries is state of the art, so that one seems unlikely. Emily mentioned Sirens before, too. But that only confused you more- could she be tampering with...magic? No, you doubt that…

Right?

You’re startled from your thoughts as the door clicks open and shifts to the side at Emily’s push. She walks inside and shares a glance with her father before looking at you. Corvo passes you once you're all inside, gently taking your water glass (that you had forgotten you were even holding), and setting it somewhere else. Really, you barely even notice it, far too taken back by what you find in the room.

It's some sort of vault, you realize. The room itself is much longer than it is wide, with thin, opaque windows along the ceiling- leaving the illumination to artificial lights hung from above. Stacked somewhat haphazardly in the left corner of the room are some shelves lined with ancient looking books and several heirlooms and artifacts. Things like paintings, jewelry, and even some weapons like intricate swords and old looking guns.

The rest of the room has been transformed into a laboratory. Two long tables are raised in the middle of the room, various tools for experimentation and research stacked ontop of them in a messy manner. The left wall, past the stacks of artifacts, is occupied with various controls and piping, which you deduce is to hold private information and control the main attraction of the vault.

The entirety of the right side of the room is a gigantic, long aquarium. Inside are several rocks and crevices made to look like the sea floor, several miles off the coast. Everything appears to be real inside down to the rocks and seaweed that fill it. The tank is empty, however. Not a single fish can be seen swimming about. The only movement comes from the occasional bubble rising from one of several filters, and greenery swaying in the slow current. The tank casts an azure glow across the room, similarly to the tank in your room (although your aquarium is blown out of the water compared to this marvel).

You can't help but wander closer to the tank- but are startled by Emily’s arm reaching in front of you, stopping you in your tracks. Her hard gaze is set on the floor. You follow it and find a row of stripped, vibrant yellow tape. It’s been put down almost hastily, but in a straight line all around the front of the tank.

“Do not cross this,” she answers your silent question, then steps back with you, hesitance rising on her features.

“Four weeks ago, there was a terrible storm, remember?”

You do, and answer as such aloud.

As the Academy students, including yourself, prepared for finals and the staff for the graduation ceremony, disaster had struck the nearby coast. A hurricane cut through, suddenly and unpredicted, resulting in damage to the city nearby, around, and including the Academy of Natural Philosophy. In fact, it got so bad that classes had been cancelled for the day, and everyone was urged to stay inside the dormitories until the storm passed. Thankfully there was only minimal wind damage to what was already set up for the ceremony, so repairs were made in a timely fashion. Yet, the storm itself was what was surprising. It sprang out of nowhere, turning the seas dark and skies gray. The thunder had boomed so loud it shook the lab you had been working in prior, you remember vividly.

Emily continues, somewhat carefully, “After that, a few days later there was a surge in energy, on the seafloor...we thought it might have been caused by the storm, or underwater seismic activity; so I sent out the former Director, Turnbull,” she scowls as she says his name, no doubt still bitter over the matter, “who led a team of researchers on a boat, but the whole ship went down under strange circumstances.”

“It sank?” You ask, wide eyed. Empire ships were pretty sturdy afterall, even the smaller ones as they had to keep up with large animals like whales. 

“Yes. No one was hurt thankfully, although a little wet and shaken up.”

Corvo speaks up again, walking around you both to place your forgotten water glass down on the lab table, “Turnbull claimed there had been a malfunction with the ship’s autopilot and it hit a sharp rock, but when we made efforts to retrieve it, he was very much against the idea.”

“That’s suspicious,” you mumble, and Corvo nods.

“It is. We dragged the wreck up anyway, and he wasn't happy.”

Emily adds on, glaring towards the empty tank, “because we found out what he had been hiding, why he really went out on that ship to find.”

You narrow your eyes in confusion, following her gaze but still finding nothing.

Suddenly Emily scowls, rolling her eyes and glancing toward her father, “Is he just going to sit in there and _pretend?”_

Corvo runs a hand over his face, looking more tired than he had all night, “Can’t be helped,” Emily groans in response.

“Um, Emily?” You start, and she quickly turns on you, annoyed scowl and all.

“We found a Siren.”

... _what?_

_“Emily-”_ Corvo warns, but Emily is already shaking her head and turning back towards the glass.

She glares hard at the nearest rock, introducing you by your name, “-and they will be your caretaker from now on, whether you like it or not.”

“It doesn't speak english, Em,” Corvo grumbles, seemingly fed up with all of this himself.

Is _anyone_ going to explain to you what’s going on?

You look between them and then the tank, which continues to bubble quietly, “Emily, what is this?”

You don’t want to make any assumptions but this looks very-

“I’m not crazy.” Emily grumbles, all too much like her father, turning her glare to you now. You hold up your hands in defense, eyes widening, “I wasn't going to say that,”

Emily scoffs and rolls her eyes, “I know what this looks like, it's ridiculous- but _watch…”_ she pauses, then clicks her tongue thoughtfully. With measured steps. She crosses the yellow tape line.

Immediately, your head throbs.

A pounding that sends your hands to either side of your temples. Corvo’s alarmed voice is caught in the static around you. Before you close your eyes in pain, you see Emily stumbling in the same way.

It feels like the worst migraine you've ever had, except packed in one threatening punch.

And the _fear_ you feel. It's intense- _overwhelming_.

No, that’s what it is. _A threat. Stay away,_ it seems to be warning you.

After the initial punch to the brain, you’re saved from falling over by Corvo’s strong grip on your upper arm, who grits his teeth beside you. He looks annoyed more than anything- how he can stand this cutting pain you have no idea. Surely you’re feeling the same thing, right?

Lingering behind the pain is a static in your ears- a low hissed call. Like a growling predator- that’s what it feels like. Invisible claws reach out and through your ears, scratching at the soft surfaces of your mind until you see a flash of red.

Peering back through narrowed slits, you see past the static and catch a glimpse of something in the tank. Hovering over Emily’s kneeling form is a long shape like a snake. Where the head seems to be are a pair of eyes- black as night- staring back at you.

Then, it's over.

You blink again and the pain fades as quickly as it came. The feeling leaves behind a real headache, sharp but manageable in the back of your mind.

You’re a bit too preoccupied keeping yourself from vomiting all over the floor. You swallow hard, feeling your limbs shake from the sudden shock.

“Emily!” Corvo shouts, leaving your side to pick her up and pull her back over the yellow line.

As the thrumming in your head slows, you move to join them- make sure Emily is alright. But something catches your eye. You flinch at the reflecting light, at first expecting another round of searing pain, but it doesn't come.

Daring to look up, you blink away the static in your peripheral and stare shocked as you see a flicker of something- flashing away so fast you’re not even sure you saw it.

Shimmering jade green scales.

And then there’s nothing but an empty tank- and you’re all surrounded by the soft sounds of bubbling once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly this is one of my favorite chapters so far...I want to touch on Reader's role in the Kaldwin/Attano family but also besides that!...
> 
> We finally met the Outsider! Or...sort of. I can't imagine he's too pleased about being stuck where he is...it looks like our poor reader has a bit of work ahead of them...
> 
> Next week we'll start to get into the mysteries of this world and soon get hints at larger figures in motion...
> 
> See you soon~


	4. Pressure

_\- You just want to make them proud. Fulfill the debt you have to them for their generosity and kindness. But are you up to the challenge? Do you really deserve to be a Kaldwin? -_

That night you barely sleep at all, your thoughts far too numerous and ever spinning. Not even your regularly scheduled nightmare can touch you, because your eyes can’t stay shut for that long. It’s only after you take some sleeping pills sometime around 3 am that you finally fall into a light sleep.

“You alright?” Emily asks you the next morning, your name falling from her lips again when you don't answer immediately.

You glance up from your eggs and meet her gaze across the dining room table, “Oh, sorry Em, I-” you yawn under a hand then continue, “I didn't sleep much last night…”

She nods, a sympathetic look in her eye that tells you she understands far too well. If you thought you’d been struggling to sleep in the past week- Void knows how exhausted Emily really was. You don't know how you’d be able to handle having a Siren in your basement while also running a super-company.

There’s her father to help as Vice, of course, but Corvo left earlier this morning for a few meetings. It’s something that’s been happening more and more as strange occurrences pop up along the coast that need addressing. You read some of the news when you first arrived back from college. Mostly coverage on the sudden, terrible storm, but also several sightings of more whales (although no more beachings thankfully), strange lights on the sea at night, an increase in heretical activity according to the Abbey- the Isles are in a fit of unrest, it seems. If someone doesn’t do something, that unrest may catch flame and turn into something that _can't_ be controlled.

When you blink back to the present, Emily has an amused expression on her face, one brow lifted a touch higher than the other.

“What?”

She smiles, barely, “It's just, you’ve been prodding that poor yolk for five minutes now.”

Looking down you find your sunny side up egg unfortunately more runny than it was a moment ago. Your plate looks more like a murder scene than breakfast. Well...a murder for an egg that is…

You are _really_ tired.

Emily chuckles to herself, waving off your no doubt embarrassed expression. She yawns herself and takes a long sip of coffee in response.

“It's alright, no ones been sleeping lately,” she drawls, ominously.

You finish your breakfast, trying not to think too hard about all the thoughts in your rambled brain. Your coffee has one scoop of sugar too much but, combined with the shot of espresso, makes it completely worth it. Soon you’ll have your energy back in no time (only to crash even harder than before by 2 pm, but you’ll cross that bridge when you get there)!

As the staff take away your finished silverware, you get up and follow Emily out of the room. She beckons you over and reaches into her pocket.

“I thought it time you finally got one,” she supplies, placing a small pointed object into your palm. As she puts on her work shoes in the entryway and shares some words with her two waiting assistants, you inspect the gift.

It's a perfect copy of Emily’s own signet ring. From the silver shine down to the company symbol on top, it's a match to her and Corvo’s own. You feel at once touched and somewhat guilty, thoughts flashing to Jessamine and your own messy upbringing.

“I- Emily, I can't take this-”

She immediately waves you off, fixing you with a glare, “Don't be silly, Corvo and I had that made for you.”

You know she’s giving it to you primarily so that you may get yourself into the lab, but there’s far more familial symbolism in the ring. It’s their family crest, passed down long before Euhorn Kaldwin. You aren’t a Kaldwin or even an honorary Attano- you’re just some...street kid who-

Emily’s hand lands on your shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. She’s giving you her best _‘I’m the CEO and what I say goes’_ look, but her words are much softer, “You should've gotten one a long time ago,”

Her words touch you, easing away most of your guilt- although not all, but you won't argue when she looks at you like that. You simply nod and slip the ring on slowly, until it fits perfectly over the middle finger on your left hand. It feels...comfortable.

“How did you figure out my ring size?” You mumble, but Emily has already turned away and started out the front door. She casts you a silly smile, a youthful expression not normally shown to anyone she doesn't trust, “Enjoy your weekend,”

The doors shut, and you let out a heavy sigh. The ring glints under a stray window light.

 _Time to get to work,_ you silently muse and make your way towards the library.

Try as you may, you can't ignore the nervous shake in your hands, or quickness in your step. You are equal parts anxious as you are unbearably excited. You still can’t get over it- Sirens are _real_ . It defies everything you studied at the Academy but Sirens and magic are so much closer than you had ever thought possible. Sure you haven't gotten a good look at them yet, but you _felt_ that power last night. The memory of such a sharp pain causes your hand to press against your temple- almost feeling the ghost of the migraine.

Whatever it had been- an attack or simply a warning- it was strong. Potent. The feeling of it was like claws, digging into your head and _pushing_ away.

Well, you wouldn't be happy in their position either.

You hesitate in front of the inner door to the lab, taking a deep breath before pushing. The locks click open, and the door swings away into the vault. Now inside, you step in slowly- almost hesitantly- and can't help but look out into the tank before anything else. It's still seemingly empty, the only noise filling the quiet space being the soft pattering of the water filter.

You let out the long breath that you’ve been holding, making your way over to the center table. The blacktop is still as it was last night- messy and covered in several unorganized tools, books and papers- but something stands out. A note, covered in scrawling handwriting. Your name is at the top in much larger lettering.

_'I’m sure you’re aware that your primary task is to observe and learn about the creature. As we told you last night, we think it might know something about everything that’s been going on- including the whales that have been sighted more and more.'_

The second whale in rehab comes to mind. Inky black splotches beneath pale gray skin. Unseeing, frightened eyes.

You shiver, suddenly cold.

_'Obviously, you can't get anything useful out of it if it dies, and we might never get this chance again. I’ll be looking for Turnbull, who has coincidentally disappeared since we found the creature._

_While Emily handles the face of the company and I’m gone, it's up to you to feed it, keep it alive, and make progress on research. Let me know if there’s any trouble. I left some notes on the other side- what we’ve been feeding it and anything else of importance._

_I’m sure you know by now, but try not to cross the tape line. It hates people.'_

_Stay safe, kid._

_Thanks._

_-Corvo_

Flipping over the paper, you find a couple scrambled notes, labeled over the course of two weeks- how long the Siren has been here you assume.

_Day 1 -_

_-Had the old vault refurbished, tank put up and filled. Waiting on delivery._

_Day 3 -_

_-Alexi and security staff still investigating blind spots. No signs of Turnbull yet._

_-Creature left in delivery spot, no signs of Lurk or the Knife- good, let's hope they stay out of this. For their sake._

_-Siren tried to bite me during the relocation process- bastard._

_Day 4 -_

_-Siren still invisible since delivery, not a word- I don't think it speaks English, but it understands behaviors and emotions fine enough._

_-Gave me another headache._

(You skip ahead a few days, since there’s a lull in new information besides “still invisible” and “gave me a headache”)

_Day 11 -_

_-Siren isn't eating much at all. We’ve tried most mixtures- it seems alright with what we give the whales. Sticking to that._

_-Saw flickers of green scales again...nothing else._

_Day 12 -_

_-Turnbull is still gone without a trace._

_-No whalers?_

_-Siren ate more today, but that's not saying much._

_-Can't wait for the kid to come back from college, maybe they’ll have something to say about all this._

_-_ _Keep them both safe_

You reread that last line a few times, a fond smile rising on your face. It sounds much more like a reminder to himself than a note for later. Corvo could act as stoic as he liked, but you know he has a soft spot for Emily and yourself. Your eyes find your ring again, and you grip a firm fist, steeling yourself.

They’re depending on you, don't let them down.

Nearby you find segmented bars of whale food, beside some other failed attempts. Digging through the overgrown fish food, you can't help but scrunch up your nose at the smell. Sure, you’ve dealt with this kind of stuff all the time in the rehabilitation center, but this is the first time you’ve ever wondered what it tastes like. Void, you’d _never_ eat this crap. No wonder the Siren hasn’t been eating.

There’s a dulled rush of water behind you, and you flinch. Turning your head, there's nothing, however, so after a beat you continue your search. Probably just the tank’s filters kicking on...

 _‘Don't get jumpy now,’_ you chide yourself, _‘as long as I don't cross the tape line, I’ll be fine…’_

A good place to start would probably be getting the Siren some breakfast, so that’s what you set out to do. You roll up the sleeves of your comfy, loose sweater and pick up a nutrient serving. Along the side of the tank, between it and the wall, is a stepladder and walkway that wraps around the top and extends across. You hesitate briefly but try and step over to the ladder-

Immediately, a high pitched noise runs through your head, causing your eyes to pinch shut as a sharp pain courses through your head.

It's just like last night, except not nearly as intense- it mostly just catches you off guard.

When you next open your eyes, you find yourself on the floor behind the yellow line once again, the whale food spilled on the floor next to you. The shrill noise continues, and you keep your hands over your ears until it ebbs away.

Slowly, the feeling comes back to your limbs- mostly your numb legs- and you shakily try to stand. You try not to be, but you’re incredibly annoyed. Irritated, even. Perhaps it’s due in part to your state of exhaustion, or the stress of recurring nightmares, or your job- but you can't help it. You grit your teeth, get up on shaky legs and glare into the tank.

“What was _that_ for?” You hiss in pain and anger, “I’m trying to _help you!”_

Obviously the Siren doesn't answer, but you’re thankful for some sort of emotional release. As your anger ebbs away, you spend the next 5 minutes cleaning up the fish food from the floor. You cast a look to the tank again, searching but finding nothing. You’ll never learn anything at this rate. Something needs to be done about the proximity issue here. If they want to stay invisible- _fine._ But surely you can communicate in some way that benefits both parties?

“Listen,” you try again in a much calmer voice, “I wouldn't eat this crap either, but unless you want to tell me what you like to eat-” you gesture around you with a roll of your eyes, “- _we’re_ not getting anywhere.”

Also, you’re slightly worried about the Siren starving themselves- but you don’t say that part out loud.

Again, silence- although not unexpected. You sigh and look around the room for anything that might help you make some sort of contact.

Swimming gear? A definite no. Firstly, even if you weren’t deathly afraid of the prospect, you can't swim very well- if at all. Secondly, there’s no telling what the Siren would do to you if you made your way past the tape line and into the tank itself. Any of the science tools are out, obviously- you can't study it yet for the same reasons as previously stated. You need to get closer to them so that they’ll show themselves, but in a way that’s non-threatening…

In the corner of the room, you remember seeing whole stacks of antiques and family treasures. Maybe something over there might catch your eye. Shaking out the lingering static from your legs, you make your way over, ignoring the cold chill on your neck.

You know the water in the tank is a little cold, but this felt almost like...no- no that’s silly.

_Focus_.

This is the first time you’ve actually looked up close at the multitude of items in this corner. If your theories are correct, this room used to be the Kaldwin family vault- or still technically is- but has since been refurbished to make room for the tank and laboratory. The antiques are stacked neatly enough, and you recognize a few. Behind the bookshelves of old, thick books, you come face to face with an oil portrait of Euhorn Kaldwin himself. Obviously you never knew him, but you do remember seeing this hanging in the main hall of the manor. You wonder if it's still- ... _yes_. Upon closer inspection, you find a familiar nick in the extravagant, golden frame. When you and Emily were children, you had accidentally knocked it off the wall during one of your infamous games of extreme tag. You had only just started living with the family, so when the portrait fell down the stairs you sobbed for hours- terrified of what would happen to you. But Jessamine, sweet Jessamine, didn't yell. She didn't kick you out like you had feared, or locked you away to reflect on what you had done wrong- she scolded you and Emily, yes, but in the end she had hugged you both close. She had been more thankful you weren't hit and sent tumbling yourself.

_“A frame can be replaced,”_ she had told you, _“but you cannot.”_

The painting of her father wasn't ruined thankfully, but the frame needed fixing so it disappeared- apparently to this room. You wonder...did they never get around to fixing it, or had she died before it came to pass? You suppose Corvo wouldn't make it a priority to fix…

You shake your head as if ridding yourself of such thoughts- you have a job to do. Save memory lane for later.

Focusing on the task at hand, you search over the books on the shelf. Emily mentioned last night that she had started to collect any old text on Sirens as she could from some unknown party. You don’t really want to question her shady contacts, instead you opt to pull out a dusty, red book. In the golden script on the spine it reads _Leviathans of the Sea and Void._

Well, creepy old book or not, it’s as good a place to start as any. You take it under one arm, and shuffle some faded quilts under the other. Before long, you’ve set up a makeshift reading nook in front of the tank. Leaning back against the lab table, you sigh, cracking open the old tome and waving away the offending dust.

You cough a few times, before glancing up into the water. Of course nothing greets you, however the room doesn't feel as cold as it did. Even if by only a few degrees.

Perhaps it’s silly, sitting here to try and make friends with an invisible mermaid...but it’s the best thing you can come up with. If you have to do research, you may as well show you mean no harm at the same time- two birds with one stone and all that. After all, you can’t study something you can’t see or interact with. Gaining their trust is simply the first logical step.

  
  


You just hope this will all pay off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the slightly shorter chapter than usual. I typically shoot for 3500-4000 words per normal chapter but occasionally I hit parts like these that are more for set-up...That being said, NEXT chapter will definitely be worth the wait~ ;)
> 
> It's still early in terms of story development. I like to take my time and build suspense in my stories, but now we've finally started to see some clues...as well as some familiar names from the games...
> 
> Also while you're still here- I'd like to say thank you to everyone who's left a kudos or a nice comment- they truly make my day and put a big goofy smile on my face! This is the first time I've ever committed to / posted my writing online and while I'm learning and improving all the time, I'm enjoying every part of it :)
> 
> As always stay tuned~


	5. Contact

_\- As a child, you would stare out into the sea and dream. Of sprawling cities on the ocean floor or scaled people who rode on the backs of whales. But now that you know they’re real...what will you do? -_

The next few days carry on in the same way. You wake up, eat breakfast with Emily (and Corvo assuming he hasn’t left for work yet), then sneak into the basement to research. Also, of course, attempt to make friends with the still-invisible Siren. All while juggling your day-time duties as Head Director. 

If you were unsure before on whether or not there’s actually anything in the tank at all, you surely believe that now. It's the little things that remind you there is _something_ swimming around in there. Bits of food being picked at and pushed around (they were eating a little more now thankfully, although not much), the occasional unnatural swishing of plants inside the tank, and of course the high pitched warnings whenever you get too close.

They still give you headaches when you cross the line, but lately you’ve noticed a slight change. The pitched yell seems softer than before and the pain it causes only temporary. On your first day, the responding migraine had lasted all day, only to be soothed by heavy painkillers and deep sleep. Now it feels like a slap on the wrist, comparatively speaking.

It gives you some hope. Maybe they’ll finally come around to you? If not show themselves, then maybe give you some other sign? At this point, for all you know, Sirens are always cloaking themselves- a survival tactic, perhaps?

On the other hand, you’re getting more sleep. The same recurring nightmare that has plagued you since your return to the Kaldwin manor has changed. Still you wake in the dream, cold and in an unfamiliar place. An endless black sea around you on your small, sharp rock; but now, instead of being dragged down and drowned, nothing ever comes. Yet, it's not like the agony of waiting for something to happen- you can just feel it, that you know _nothing_ is going to happen. So it's still an unsettling dream, but not terrifying- per say. The black seas in your dreams start to still, and instead of hateful eyes and gripping claws you’re met with weariness and _interest_. Nothing emerges to grab you, although you do feel curious eyes looking through your own- into your own head. As if your thoughts and feelings are laid bare on the rock with you…

You aren't a psychologist by any means, although your second year roommate was. You vaguely remember her spending a whole semester’s class on the topic of the human mind and its many strange habits. Her final had been a surprisingly tough one, with a whole section on the dreaming human brain. You, being the pushover you are, couldn't refuse helping her study- meaning that everything she had to learn you did do, so you could properly quiz her.

So while you aren’t an expert on dreams, you know a few things. Typically, recurring dreams mean that the dreamer has repressed or otherwise unresolved stress or even trauma- but you cross that off, given the subject of your dream is being attacked and drowned (which has never happened to you- at least not at the same time). Or maybe if it's more symbolic- sometimes dreams can be more confusing in origin.

Well, regardless of if you can put a logical label to it, your nightmares have lulled and for that you’re thankful (seriously, you were worried your eye-bags were starting to become permanent).

Speaking of ‘logical’ discoveries, you've made a lot of progress getting through a few books about Sirens, Leviathans, and other mythical Sea-dwellers. Obviously, a few of the books are nothing short of ramblings- often the fanatical kind. The same tales the Abbey preached about: Leviathans eating the bones of children- that sort of stuff. You don’t believe any of it, obviously, and even if it were true there's no way you are feeding the Siren _that._

In actuality, the most common diet you find popping up more than once is the theory that Sirens are carnivores, closer to sharks than whales in that regard. If that’s true, maybe you could entice the Siren out with some fresh fish. Not just the kind packaged along with who-knows-how-many-preservatives and chemicals, but _real_ fish that they would find in the open seas.

Now, the only way to get fresh fish would be from work- that’s the easy part. Getting a few buckets past your coworkers, however…

Well, it's been a long day already, that much is certain.

Irene, one of the (arrogant) interns you’re working with, is currently watching you scoop extra buckets of fish from the shark food dispenser into your own buckets to take home after the day’s work. Her hands are on her hips, and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. The tell tale lift of her mouth in disgust says it all without her needing to open her mouth- but of course she does anyway.

“ _Director-_ ” she starts, the title always sounding so bitter on her tongue, “isn't that a bit much? We only have three sharks on site.”

You nod, swallowing your anxiety, “Only those are going to the shark sector-” you point at the other cart piled with fish in measured buckets, “ _these_ are to be redistributed to other carnivores.”

You really hope she’ll drop it at that, happy not to have to lift a nail. However, it only makes her more curious- eyes a touch colder and more calculating. It’s like she has it out for you- despite being about your age she’s clearly threatened by you. Anytime she can, Irene will pick out flaws in your orders and make you look like a novice. You figure it's her _'superiority complex'_ as Micha had described her on your first day.

She fixes you in place with a doubtful look, “The research center only has two different carnivorous animals, and that is _a lot_ of different species of fish.” Irene scrunches up her nose as she leans over one of the buckets. You can't blame her there, it smells awful.

Yet, despite how uncomfortable she makes you, there’s a spark of irritation at her pushing- although you hide it best you can.

“President Emily’s orders,” you shrug, forcing out the sigh to make it seem as though you’re just as confused. Irene doesn't bite.

“Really?” She asks, tilting her head innocently in a way that just pisses you right off.

Instead of scowling or reprimanding her for pushing your buttons you sigh, unable to meet her gaze, “Yes.”

“What does Emily want with a ton of dead fish?”

Irene seems desperate for an answer, so finally you scramble to give her one, “The president has a new aquarium in the estate. It's some species of shark- I haven't seen it yet- this is their food.”

Not a lie, technically.

Thankfully, Irene seems satisfied (that or finally bored with it). She rolls her eyes and turns from you, pushing away the first cart of fish towards the neighboring section.

Only when the door clicks shut do you let out the breath you've been holding.

~~~

Finally, after a long day, you’ve finished work and managed to get the fish back to the estate. Three buckets worth, to be exact. You had enough problems convincing your personal driver to help you lift and carry them in the back of the company vehicle, and when you arrived at the manor it wouldn't be any easier…how do you _sneak in_ three buckets of dead fish?

_So much for earning the respect of your coworkers...they must think you’re absolutely mad._

Sure enough, when you arrive back, you're met with the confused face of the head maid. A nice enough older woman by the name of Cassandra, but she’s as polite as she is strict. Even to you, one of the residents of the home, she will occasionally scold for poor manners. She won’t scowl at Corvo or Emily of course, that much you’ve noticed. Perhaps it’s your more quiet and reserved personality that clashes with her own.

Either way, Cassandra takes one look at your buckets of fish and turns up her nose- more in confusion than disgust, “What is _this_ for?”

You sigh, blistering under her intense gaze, but thankfully you don't have to respond. Emily’s voice, cheerful, calls your name from up the stairs to the estate.

“-there you are. Work run late, again?” Emily asks, smiling as she strides over, well-kept and confident as ever.

“My lady,” Cassandra greets, bowing politely.

“Cassandra,” Emily nods back, taking her place beside you, “would you please take these samples to the freezer?” After saying this, she looks to you once more, “Finally you brought this for me, I really appreciate the samples-”

At Cassandra’s curious glance, Emily rolls her eyes, “The annual inspections are coming up. Have to make sure all the proper samples are ready to be sent in.”

You’re not sure that's how the quality inspections work, but Cassandra seems to know even less about the subject than you do. Her eyes soften in understanding and she bows once more to Emily, “Of course, Miss Kaldwin, I’ll have the staff bring it to the freezer for safe keeping, right away.”

Amazing what you can get other people to do, with enough confidence and authority.

Emily then ushers you inside, pretending to ask about your day and comparing statistics, but once you're around the corner and sure Cassandra can't hear you she smirks your way.

“You’re welcome.”

You snort, “Do you really send samples in? I don't think that's how inspections work.”

“Why not,” she shrugs, now leading you both towards the sitting room, “Cassandra seemed to believe it well enough,”

“I bet you don't even know what that fish is for,”

Emily shrugs, “I have a good hunch, but besides that I wasn't going to let you just _flounder_ there,”

“Well, thank you, I’m thinking I’ll try and bring it down tonight after-” Wait. Did Emily just...make a terrible pun?

You glance carefully over your shoulder at her, and sure enough- find her grinning from her seat on the couch.

“I swear to the Sirens, Em...” you warn, but it slides right past her.

“What’s wrong?” she asks playfully, “ _catfish_ got your tongue?”

 _“Emily, please that was awful,”_ you groan.

She lifts a brow in response, “Oh? I'm having a _whale_ of a time, myself!”

You throw a soft pillow at her, unable to help as an amused grin rises on your face.

~~~

After relaxing together, Corvo finally returns home and you three eat dinner like usual.

He politely waves away the staff, and when it’s quiet again, he nods Emily’s way.

“I spoke with Alexi today,” he starts, tone coming out softer, almost hushed, “no signs of Turnbull.”

“Still?” Emily scowls.

You hum around a bite of your food, swallowing before adding, “Suspicious, isn't it?”

“Very,” Corvo agrees, wearing his own expression of irritation, “the timing is too specific.”

“Any sightings of Lurk or Daud?” Emily asks after a pause. Your mind immediately goes back to Corvo’s notes over the past two weeks, of first receiving the Siren and his reminder to keep an eye out for Lurk and the Knife. Could he be talking about _the_ Knife of Dunwall? Daud? An old rumor from several years ago, you had thought, but if Corvo’s mentioned it, it must be true. You hadn't thought anything of it when you read his notes originally, you had been so tired and distracted in your search for other information.

An assassin who used to lead a gang of mercenaries, working in the shadows. Supposedly users of Void magic, but you aren’t totally sure about that- being the sceptic you are (then again there _is_ a Siren in your basement, so who knows). Most of the Whalers had been arrested or chased out by Overseers years ago. After the passing of- ...

Well, suddenly his mention of the Knife and Whalers is making more sense- although the name Lurk is still unfamiliar to you...

You share a look with the man, and he shakes his head while answering his daughter, recognition in his gaze, “No, but I haven't ruled them out yet.”

He continues eating his dinner, a silent request that the conversation cease for now. You have half a mind to ask one of the thousands of questions that run rampant through your mind, but the staff are back in the room to refill drinks and take requests- so you swallow your words.

You trust Corvo and Emily most of all. There would be time for questions later, but for now you have a more important task at hand.

You politely excuse yourself a few minutes later, and make your way to the library.

…

That night you spend in the vault, reading through more old texts and searching the internet on your laptop for anything that might be useful. Doing a basic search has yielded some results, but the majority of what you find is Abbey propaganda. Even when you turn on your private server and dig a little deeper, you find some fanatical posts and blogs- but all of it is creepy ramblings. Not much to scientifically go on...although you’ll _definitely_ keep them in mind next time you need to perform some sort of ritual.

You groan in irritation, shutting your laptop with a loud _clack!_ Laying down against the pillows in your make-shift floor-bed, you rub your eyes until you see stars.

_It's almost been a week and a half and I’ve made no progress whatsoever._

Luckily for you, someone moved an old coffee pot into the vault (your bets on Corvo, knowing his dependence on dark coffee when he works). In no time you’ll be caffeinated and jumping for the books at your feet.

Suddenly something jabs into your side, making you flinch harshly. Again you roll your eyes at yourself- it's just your phone vibrating in your pocket. You pick it up and are met with Emily’s contact photo. It's a picture of the two of you from last winter break. You had returned to the estate in the Month of Songs to celebrate the new year as well as relax between semesters. Everyone had gone home for the night leaving Corvo, Emily, and yourself. In the picture, Emily is holding the phone up, her other arm slung behind your back as you huddle close in a sort of half-hug. You’re both beaming bright, happy grins. You both look so much younger in this photo…

You flick the symbol on the screen over until it's green and raise the device to your ear.

“..Hello?”

 _“Hey,”_ Emily’s voice hums through the receiver, _“you still downstairs?”_

Stifling a yawn you nod to yourself- although you then realize she can't see you, so you reaffirm as such out loud.

“Yeah, why?”

A noise stuck between a scoff and a laugh leaves her lips, _“Because it's almost 1 am, and I stopped in to say goodnight, but you’re strangely missing from your room.”_

Your eyes snap open to the old clock above the door, which- sure enough- reads 12:56 am. Immediately you move to groan in frustration, but instead a strangled yawn leaves your lips. Emily chuckles on her end.

 _“Good morning,”_ she chimes teasingly, then tries again in a more serious tone of voice, _“come upstairs and get some rest.”_

Your brows furrow as you reach for your mug somewhere in the mess of blankets, “Em, I’m sorry-”

 _“Why are you apologizing?”_ She asks, and you can mentally picture her eyebrow lifting to the roof, _“Please don't tell me you plan on working through the night-”_

You don't respond right away, too distracted in- _aha!_ There's your mug... _“shit.”_ you mutter, upon finding it empty.

Emily’s voice, now a touch more smug even through the phone, continues in your other ear, _“Remember what happened the last time you pulled an all nighter? Third year, finals. Three nights in a row, and your roommate found you sprawled across your desk at 6 am. Thought you were dead and then called me- in a meeting at the time, might I add- and don't forget how sick you got afterwards-”_

“Yes, yes- okay I’m coming up now,” you roll your eyes before they land on your ever-growing pile of books and tomes. Guilt settles in your gut, the emotional response heightened by your lack of sleep- and therefore lack of guard.

“It's just..." you tear your eyes away from the pile of dead-ends, "...I haven't made progress.”

Emily sighs, starting to call your name but you interrupt her, “-it's silly, I know- but nothing has changed since I started coming down here. They haven't shown themselves yet, and-”

Your name through her end, harsh and rushed, cuts you off mid-rant.

_“-don't talk about it here, okay?”_

Over the phone or in general? With all this stressful tip-toeing around, surely the wrinkles in your brow will become permanent at this rate.

Is Emily afraid someone would be listening in..?

 _“It's just a precaution,”_ she finally explains when you go silent, as if reading your thoughts. You nod, more to yourself since you are (sort of) alone in this room.

 _“Besides,”_ she tries again, much calmer- more tired- _“I want to talk to you in person about this, so I can actually hug you when I say that it's_ _ okay.” _

“Em-”

 _“I mean it,”_ She presses, _“this isn't exactly your standard task at the Academy, it’ll take time,”_

“What’s going on, Emily?” You can't help but ask. Some of your frustration must slip through your tone because her end goes silent a moment. You aren't even sure what you're asking for, but all you know is that something big is happening, and you can't stand not knowing what it is. You’re in this now, too, so you deserve to know, right?

Your anger dissipates as Emily responds in a tired voice, _“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? I promise I’ll explain everything.”_

You sigh, biting your tongue as another apology rises to meet it. Chances are she’d just scold you again anyway, so you lean back against your pillows and pull your knees to your chest. Submitting once again to your _blissful_ ignorance.

“Okay. Goodnight, Em.”

She returns the verbal gesture and soon you're left with the quiet once more.

After that conversation the _last_ thing you want to do is sleep. Even if you tried to lay down here, your mind is going so much faster than it was before, so it wouldn't do much good. You have so many questions...

Why is the Siren even here? How did Emily and Corvo find it? How are the Whalers involved and where is Director Turnbull? Could he be working with Daud?

You sigh- the breath coming out harsh against gritted teeth. Your head falls atop your knees while you think about it more.

Surely a real, live Siren would sell for a pretty price on the black market- much less _any_ market. The Abbey would lose their minds over it, too. Not to mention the fanatics that obsess over them- _Gah!_ There’s too many possibilities…Sitting here and stewing in your thoughts may not be the best idea. Yet, you still can't sleep.

You need a distraction.

Shifting around, you fix up the pile of pillows into a proper throne before leaning back with one of the smaller books from the pile. An old green novel, weathered at the edges and the author's name scratched out. The title can only be made out after you read over it a couple of times- the lettering faded away. _Spirits of the Void: Folklore and Ritual._

Ah, a creepy book before bed, just what you were thinking of. _Surely_ this will not give you a new bout of recurring nightmares. After all it took you so long to get over your previous ones.

The chapters within are much more legible, thank the stars. You chalk that up to the book being closed for the past hundred years- somewhat preserving the pages within. Although yellowed at the edges you handle it carefully and sip on some water instead (you make a mental note to pick up coffee on your next visit down to the vault).

The novel is split up in several chapters, each one focusing on a different sort of spirit or mythical creature. You skip ahead to the chapter on Sirens.

_'Sirens, the waterfolk of the deep. An ancient race of humans touched by the Void, who’s very souls evolved in a way ours have not-'_

You sigh, skipping over the fluffy introduction. Where is the part about behaviors or diet..?

_'Not much is known about these beautiful creatures, but legends tell stories of these great beasts traveling in groups. Ship fleets have returned home from months out on open water with terrible tales of mountain high waves and sudden whirlpools spun from nothing. It is from these exaggerated tales that theories have sprung. Could the Sirens be connected to nature- and therefore disaster- in some way? If so, then I would bet it has something to do with their magic, pulled from the Void itself. after all, myths about the connections between the Void and the ocean predates written word.'_

You sift through the text, placing sticky notes occasionally to mark sections of possible importance.

It's only when you hit the end of the next chapter that something distracts you.

Something shining like a light in your peripheral. A shifting set of flashes that eventually grab your attention. First you assume it to be your phone, but then you remember you pocketed the device at least an hour ago. You blink in confusion, lowering the book from your face and lifting your gaze.

Your heart stops, and the world seems to slow around you...

You aren’t alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the cliff-hanger but I absolutely could not help myself...it just makes their meeting all the more worth it don't you think??? Either way we're getting down into more and more story details. Since this is an AU- while I am including parts of the game's storyline / major events- I'm spinning them in different ways to fit the "modern w/magic" side of the plot...which will become more clear the further in we get...trying not to spoil anything, of course.
> 
> So I'll leave you with that! Let me know what you think or if you have any guesses as to what might happen next. I look forward to shocking you in the next chapter when our dear Reader finally makes some decent progress with someone they've been dying to meet.


	6. Progress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's finally here~

_ \- Everything is changing and progressing faster than you can keep up, and it certainly doesn’t help that you’re still in the dark about a lot of things. Just how long will they continue to lie to you like this? - _

Dark, black eyes stare back at you from inside the tank. A thin, pale face framed by softly flowing jet hair. He has a normal, slender build- he can’t be no more than 2 years your wiser, closer to Emily’s age perhaps- but the thing that grasps your attention the most is the shimmering from before, which happens to be his tail. Extending down from his exposed torso and waist, the skin gives way to rows of pale green, iridescent scales with a long dorsal fin and two long tail fins at the end. It must be at least five feet long! Even in the enormous tank, his tail is pulled close, coiling gently around the space he occupies. Not defensive but certainly not trusting either.

He’s just...floating there, inspecting you.

You are suddenly feeling  _ very  _ awake- your previous grievances over your missing coffee tossed aside. Your heart thumps on somewhere in your chest.

You must look like you’ve gone catatonic, because the Siren tilts his head- just slightly so. You swallow the dry lump in your throat, blinking several times- you must be hallucinating, right? Yes that’s it, you’re finally breaking from the sleep deprivation and the stress, and now you’re seeing things.

You rub your eyes quickly and clumsily, but he’s still there when they open again. His tail shifts around slowly, keeping him suspended there and causing the same flashes from before in those reflective scales.

The Siren...he’s real. He _ actually _ appeared _ …well don’t just stand there say something! _

“H-hello…” you try in a clipped voice.

The merman doesn't really react other than the squint of his eyes as he looks you over in a similar fashion.

“Uh, my name is…” and you introduce yourself, straightening up and dropping your forgotten book.

The Siren continues to watch you. Now that the initial shock has started to dissipate, you’re left feeling very out of your element- as well as incredibly nervous under his gaze.

In all honesty you hadn't expected him to appear so...human. After reading so many fanatical depictions and exaggerated theories, you were imagining a creature more suited to living in the deep, pitch black sea. Yet, save for the tail, he’s almost normal- at least normal to  _ you _ . His eye color is a little jarring, however. Are they completely black all the time, or are they just like that for the sake of seeing in the dark? Perhaps it's some other survival technique?

No, no- get a hold of yourself! You shouldn’t gawk at him like he’s one of the Academy’s experiments. In fact, you feel nauseous at the very thought. You live for absorbing knowledge of all kinds- but never would you treat the animals you care for harshly for the sake of it. Besides...he looks far too human for you to stomach the thought of prodding him in any way.

“Can...you hear me?” You try again, bent on being as polite as possible (if he disappears now, the Void only knows if he’ll ever show himself again).

The siren narrows his dark eyes, but- after an agonizing pause- nods.

“Really? You understand english?” A possibly stupid question depending on the answer, but the Siren seems stumped. His arms cross in front of his chest, squinted eyes tilting in confusion. Maybe he’s just not fluent?

Back in Corvo’s notes, he said that the Siren never spoke once. However, he had written that ‘ _...it understands behaviors and emotions fine enough _ ’.

So if words won't be helpful, perhaps you could try and show you mean no harm.

As soon as you move to stand up, so does the Siren. His hands grip his arms more tightly, tail curling more around himself.

You move slowly, holding up both hands in (what you hope) is a universal motion of  _ ‘I mean you no harm’. _ He doesn't swim away or turn invisible, so that’s a good sign...although he certainly doesn't seem  _ happy _ . His brow is creased in what you discern as either annoyance or mistrust. Either way, you continue to move forward on nervous feet. Only once you’re up in front of the yellow tape, you stop.

This line is his established field of safety. To breach it without proper invitation may spook him (oh, Spirits of the Abyss, you are so nervous). You really don’t want to freak him out and potentially throw away all the progress you’ve made thus far, so you do your best to break the language barrier.

“Um,” you mutter, taking a slow step forward, “can I-”

The Siren’s mouth opens- just enough- and an ear piercing noise rises in your head. The same noise you always hear when crossing the tape. The sharp pain isn't as intense as it usually is, but it’s as good a warning as any. You flinch and jump back a few steps, hands clutching your ears to block out anything you can.

When it dies down you look back up and find him watching you still, looking irritated. He has backed up a small amount from the glass, yet he hasn't hid. He’s only established a comfortable distance. Which you would respect if _that_ _noise_ didn't sting like a bitch-!

“You know, that fucking  _ hurts!”  _ You push out through gritted teeth, fixing him in place with a glare.

Immediately you half-fear he’ll take your tone poorly and swim away, but instead he actually stops. His features soften, ever so slightly, enough to lift a brow in...dare you say  _ amusement _ .

You scoff, feeling embarrassed under his intense watch (like you're some kind of new chew toy).

“Don't smirk at me like that...I wasn't trying to hurt you, you know.”

He nods, a soft bob that you almost miss. You bite your tongue, choosing instead to sigh inwardly.

_ ‘I think this job just got much more difficult…’ _

~~~

Sitting at the dining table the next morning, you are faced with  _ three _ immediate challenges:

Firstly, you haven't told Emily or Corvo yet about your contact with the Siren last night, and it's a little hard to do so with the staff flitting about the estate at every turn. Besides, you’re not even entirely sure  _ what _ to say beyond the obvious.

_ Hey, the Siren in our basement appeared to me last night and gave me another headache! Then proceeded to egg me on until getting bored and disappearing again! _

Maybe it’s not worth mentioning? It's not like you learned anything major from the interaction other than how he looks.

You spare a glance toward Emily across the table. She’s munching away happily on Cassandra’s fresh pancakes- which she only makes on payday (what a  _ coincidence _ ). Corvo was even in higher spirits this morning. His natural scowl is almost evened out into something neutral, a tiny detail only you or Emily could notice in him. Perhaps it’s best to shelve business related thoughts for now, basement-merman included.

Secondly, you have the issue over your sleep schedule which has, once again, taken a dip into the realm of unnerving nightmares and restless tossing and turning. Your eyebags are back and every deep sigh seems to be accompanied with a yawn. Then again, how could you have slept after such an interaction. A real Siren communicated (or at least tried to) with you. After crossing the tape line, he had studied you a bit more then swam off, disappearing in a whirl of black reflections until nothing remained. You only know he was still in the tank at all from the telltale swishing of the aquarium’s plant life.

Yet, the way he uses magic to turn invisible stumps your curious side. It’s...actually very beautiful, in its own strange way. 

_ The Siren blinks sluggishly, his pitch night eyes drooping in a lazy manner. Whether he’s flatout bored or simply tired you aren’t sure, but just like that he turns from you and swirls his tail. It had kicked up some of the rocky floor, mixing in with the green flashes of his tail’s scales- but you still see it. It’s sort of like those cloaking devices you see in movies. Millions of little mirrors shining green, then fading into the background until nothing was left of him but drifting seaweed and pebbles. _

Your name reaches your ears, teasing yet harsh and clear all the same. Your head snaps up to find Emily peering at you curiously.

At her silent, expectant gaze you fidget, bringing a hand up to thumb the edge of your coffee mug, “Uh, sorry, what did you say?”

She lifts a brow in your direction, “I asked if you went to bed last night, after our call.”

You scoff, taking a long sip, “ _ yes, absolutely-” _

“Bullsh-” 

_ “Emily.”  _ Corvo mutters, narrowing his eyes at his daughter who returns the gesture.

“I can swear, father, I’m not a child.”

Thankfully for you, the attention is quickly drawn away from your sleep schedule and forgotten, at least you think. Before you can go your separate ways, however, Corvo stops you in the entryway. Emily has already left in a hurry, her assistants trailing her with their own mountains of paperwork and contracts. You’re on your way out as well, your shoulderbag of research charts and other work necessities slung around your shoulder. Corvo calls your name again as he approaches, pressing a thermos into your hands. It's pleasantly warm to the touch, and the bittersweet smell of fresh coffee greets your nose almost immediately.

You recognize the ocean-inspired pattern on the side, nodding gratefully, “Oh, I completely forgot...thanks, Corvo,”

He nods, stoic as always, but pats you on the shoulder as you both turn to leave, “Hopefully that will help with the exhaustion,”

“Is it that obvious?” You mutter, taking a long swig- then flinch as it hits your tongue.

Corvo gently lowers the coffee with a careful hand, “It's hot.” 

You sigh and hop down the stairs of the estate, immediately spotting the black company car waiting for you.

Ah, yes, your  _ third  _ immediate problem…you almost forgot in your starving pursuit of breakfast.

You have to work today. Which is something you _really_ don't want to do. Could the head of the department call in sick? No, that’d probably be in bad taste, and there is a scheduled checkup with the whales today; something you couldn't miss, even if you wanted to. 

As the driver opens the door for you and flashes a polite smile, you pause, turning towards Corvo. You lower your tone, despite having a few feet between the driver and yourselves.

“He appeared to me last night,” you mumble, “I made the first contact, I just...thought you should know.”

Corvo immediately nods back, surprise nowhere to be found in his expression, only thoughtfulness. After a moment of pondering whatever goes on in the mind of Corvo Attano, he comes back to the present. “Good job, kid,” he replies, a small smile on his face, “We’ll talk with Emily later,”

“Right.” You sigh, smiling back before climbing into the vehicle.

You won't deny, it always feels good when Corvo acknowledges you. He’s somewhat of a father figure you never had growing up. It had just been you and your mother and well, obviously  _ she  _ never praised you. She was never proud of you. Emily and Corvo, however, they were- _ are- _ proud of you. You just strive to be someone worth putting faith in...

Sitting in your seat, a childishly-prideful smile on your face, you turn over your shoulder to wave goodbye to Corvo. However, he’s not watching you go. His gaze is drawn elsewhere, a grim look on his face, fists clenched at his sides.

Troubled.

~~~

“Has the water been cleaned daily?”

“Of course, as requested,” Dr. Hargreaves sighs, seemingly as stumped as you are.

After spending the hours of the morning jumping between different departments, you finally had the time to visit the whales in the rehabilitation center. You were hoping to take a look at the sick whale again- the one with the strange, inky rash over its eye. However, things were worse than you had expected.

“What of their diets?” You ask while still kneeling to inspect the whale suspended in front of you both. It sits in the sling, uncaring, but humming a low song that sounds almost melancholic. When you first visited them, the whale was more lively. It would groan and huff every now and then, but at least it would show some sort of emotion. This almost seemed like a completely different whale in that regard. It was basically dead weight in the sling, the only movement being the occasional rising and falling of its body in breath.

Yet, that is not what’s concerning you the most.

The unknown sickness has spread. Now more than ever does it appear like ink beneath skin. The black tendrils have started to reach out farther, deeper into and underneath the pale gray skin. Before, it only had an affected radius of, say, a foot around the eye. Now, however, the inflicted area easily reaches two and a half feet. It’s a nasty, painful looking wound. Almost like a charred burn beneath flesh. You shiver.

_ Why must this room always be so damn cold? _

Dr. Hargreaves adjusts his glasses- you hear it rather than see it- before carefully answering you, “Nothing special, the same old kelp-blends. Some protein from added krill and the lab’s own supplements, for energy.”

You hum, resisting the urge to reach out and touch it. No one knows yet what it even is, or if it's contagious to humans.

“Take out the supplements for now, and stick to the organic blends. Just in case it's irritating him.”

There's a hesitant pause, and you finally turn to spare Hargreaves a glance. He’s staring at his tablet, digital writing pencil frozen mid-sweep. His uncertain frown causes fresh anxiety to swirl within you.

“Uh, is there a problem with that? Do we not have organic versions?”

He blinks, coming back to you with glazed eyes. He shakes his head, a strained smile rising to meet you, “No, Director, we have organic versions of the whale rations...I just don't think that’s the issue here.”

“Oh,” you mumble, lamely, suddenly unable to make eye contact. You fumble with your own notes, “What’s your opinion, then?”

Hargreaves hums in thought before answering, much more confidently, “Actually, I have a feeling that the supplements are a  _ good thing _ . They’re designed to boost the already natural anti-bodies within the beast-” (you internally cringe at the word, brain flipping through memories of college and hearing old world scientists refer to great beautiful creatures as brainless  _ monsters- _ ) “-so if you want my opinion...I’d say it needs exercise.”

You raise yourself slightly, meeting eye to eye with the whale. He’s looking off, seeing yet unseeing- that much hasn't changed. You bite your lip, “I don't know...he doesn't seem very excitable right now.”

Dr. Hargreaves must feel emboldened by your lack of conviction, because he’s  _ never  _ sounded so smug when speaking with you, “That’s because the poor thing has been in solid captivity for so long. It needs the comfort of other whales, room to swim.”

“And more  _ supplements?”  _ You mutter bitterly, unable to stop the slight from leaving your mouth but Hargreaves either doesn't catch the tone or ignores it completely.

He smiles down at you, absolutely  _ enamored  _ with his own conclusions, “Precisely! Here, go ask the interns to bring some now and we can test it,”

_ ‘Who gives the orders around here again?’ _ you think bitterly but the argument doesn't leave you throat- barely forms at all. Embarrassment and regret sit in your stomach like shards of lead.

You should stand up for yourself, you should put Hargreaves on cleaning duty- that’d shut him up.

You take a deep breath,  _ ‘No, I’m being silly. Scientists are meant to share ideas- otherwise I’d be called the Head Dictator not Director…’ _

You send a fleeting glance towards the whale. His heavily dilated eye stares back as you muster the most comforting smile you can.

_ ‘I’ll figure this out and help you, I promise.” _

~~~

Later that night, you have a private dinner with Corvo and Emily. The staff had been sent away early, and you three ordered in pizza for a change. Your favorite place, too; the family owned restaurant on mainstreet.

Over a beautiful slice of pepperoni and cheese, you share everything that happened the night before. The research you’ve done so far, leading up to the Siren appearing behind the glass. Emily looks absolutely amazed as she asks a multitude of questions- mostly about how he presented himself. Corvo simply nodded on and listened in the background, speaking up only occasionally.

He doesn’t have the same, troubled look that he did this morning, which is good. However, you can’t help but feel like he’s still stressed about something. You highly doubt Emily is ignorant to her father’s darkened aura, so the only explanation would be they both know something you don’t.

Now, as the conversation lulls and you finish your slice, you set down the plate. Mustering your courage you look up and meet their gazes.

“What’s really going on?”

Corvo doesn't react in the slightest, and neither does Emily- although she swallows the bite she had been chewing a little too quickly. She shares a look with her father, then sighs. As elegantly as ever, Emily sets down her plate of pizza and wipes her fingers of grease on a napkin, “A promise is a promise,” she drawls, recounting back to your phone call not 24 hours ago, “what would you like to know?”

You rack your brain for what information you have so far. You know that the vault has always been there but was renovated for the Siren, which was delivered by  _ someone _ after being captured  _ somehow _ . This all happened shortly after the big storm that hit the coast of Dunwall, which may be related to the sudden swarming of sick whales- many sharing similar black marks to the whale in your captivity, down at the lab. Then, while all this is happening, Emily and Corvo began acting very carefully, almost nervously…

You clear your throat and try to articulate your words as neatly and calmly as possible, “The beginning. When the storm hit, something happened. Something that led up to you finding a Siren?”

Emily looks off somewhere over your head, “Yes, you were away finishing up the semester when the weather took a turn.”

“Do you remember what we first told you, about Turnbull?” Corvo adds in, leaning forward in his seat with his elbows on his knees.

You do. Dr. Turnbull, the former Head of Marine Research, had gone missing mysteriously, but just before he disappeared…

“Turnbull knew about the Siren,” you deduce, thoughts going all the way back to graduation day when you first met up with Emily, “He tried to steal  _ company information-  _ that’s what you were referring to, right?”

“Exactly,” Emily sighs into her fizzy drink, taking a long sip before continuing, “the rest of the story is the same. He attempted to steal it, but got locked out when he tried to break into the vault. The whole estate went on lockdown- automatic security protocol.”

“The alarms went off, and we caught him red handed,” Corvo grumbles as Emily smirks.

“You should've seen the look on his face when I fired him, and he got taken away by security.”

Nodding numbly, you pick at a stray piece of cheese, “But how did Turnbull know about the safe- about the Siren?”

“I would never trust him with such information,” Emily scoffs, answering your silent quiry, “we don't actually know…”

“That’s-”

_ “Suspicious?”  _ Emily supplies, a brow raised.

Corvo leans his head down, glaring into the polished floorboards of the office, “We didn't get a chance to interrogate him. One minute he was in on-site security custody, the next morning he was gone. Not a single trace, and no guards saw anything.”

How could a grown man just vanish overnight? You’ve been inside the estate’s security office only a handful of times, but you knew it was as good a jailhouse as any. Some meager, temporary cells- but secure all the same.

“Could the guards be lying?” You wonder, aloud

Corvo shakes his head slowly, “I don't think so. Alexi was on guard that night, and I trust her. She only ever works night shifts with the guardsmen she can actually stand.”

“Basically, those she trusts,” Emily adds, “Besides, even if someone did let him out he wouldn't have gotten past the entrance.”

“Don't you have security footage?” You ask, brow furrowing. How could a man as inelegant as Turnbull just vanish? Surely they must have seen  _ something _ happen.

There's a pause. Corvo and Emily share another look, the former frowning in irritation and the latter more concerned. Corvo is the one to address your question first.

“The footage only covers the main hallway of confinement, but even so, there was a strange blackout that lasted 5 whole minutes. When they came back online, Turnbull’s cell door was open, and he was gone.”

“Well, what- was he  _ expecting _ to be caught?”

Emily scoffs, “I don't think so. You should've seen him when we caught him outside the vault. Tomato red in the face with rage when I fired him and security came- it was quite the scene.”

You can vaguely imagine it yourself. James Turnbull being dragged through the library by an irritated Alexi and company, shouting obscenities and struggling to no avail (the man’s like a toothpick- all brains and no brawn it seems).

After another comfortable pause, gears turning in everyone’s heads, Corvo finally breaks the silence. He sits back in his chair, crossing his arms as he clears his throat, “But you probably wanna know more about the Siren. How we got ‘em.”

_ Iridescent, green scales. Endless, black eyes. Quietly, curiously watching you. _

“Alright,” he sighs, a hand coming up to rub at the stubble on his chin, “after the storm, one of our ships had gone down as we told you before. Turnbull complained that it had been a simple error, and digging up the wreck would be a waste of time and money.”

“Did you ever dig it up?”

“Of course,” Emily adds, “either way we would have, for insurance and records first and foremost.”

“But the ship,” Corvo narrows his eyes, “it was damaged, like he said.”

“You mentioned he claimed to have hit a rock or something?”

Corvo nods, “Yes, but it must have been one hell of a rock. Splintered and jagged- sunk in one hit.”

Emily must see the gears turning in your mind, because she speaks before you can even ask, “The crew were fine, just shaken up. Although none of them saw what happened.”

_ Yet another mysterious occurrence? Or was James Turnbull telling the truth? _

“The crew,” she continues, “were all asleep, as it had been late at night when it happened.” Emily sighs, passing her drink between her hands, “The boat that sank is the one we sent out with Turnbull at the helm, looking for evidence after the storm. Full of sonar-based equipment, to see along the ocean floor.”

“Anyway,” Corvo grumbles, sitting up straighter as he changes the subject slightly, “Fast forward, Turnbull disappears overnight, and I’m looking for any leads I can while Emily heads the business...then, all of the sudden one of my contacts in the city hears something.” He looks up, takes a long swig of his drink then continues, “A sighting of Daud himself, and one of the old Whalers from his gang, Billie. Supposedly asking around- looking for something  _ very  _ important.”

The look he shares with you finally clicks. A hunch perhaps, but he’s nodding as you supply,  _ “The Siren?” _

“We’re still trying to learn why and how they knew about it, but they did and were looking for it.”

“Obviously,” Emily mumbles, “we had to get it first. You’ve heard the tales,” she nods to you, “no telling what sort of stuff would happen, if someone got their hands on an actual Leviathan.”

“Who finally found him, then?” You ask, and Emily raises a brow.

“Yes, father, I’d  _ love _ to know.”

Corvo lets out a short, raspy chuckle, “An old friend, who has his own other old friends of friends.” He turns back to you, “Basically, the Siren got caught up in some nets- was found weakened- but thankfully this  _ distant friend _ knew Empire was looking for it. So, we set up a deal.”

“And they just stayed silent?” Your eyes widen at the thought. Surely, they’d want to keep it for themselves?

“They did at first-” he starts, but Emily scoffs, finishing in his place with a certain smugness of her own.

“Until I wrote out a check for them myself, then they were  _ much  _ more comfortable cooperating.”

From the slight pained look she tries to hide, you can only guess as to how many zeroes were written onto that check. Besides, it makes sense. There would be as many dangers as there would boons- if not even more so. They’d have to worry about prosecution by the Abbey of the Everyman, possible attacks by crazed fanatics, even the government might want a piece of a real-life Siren. Best case scenario, the poor soul would end up selling the Siren to Empire Industries in the end regardless, considering how massive and influential the company is.

If you were in their shoes, you might be inclined to take an under-the-table check as well.

“And now,” you drone, leaning back in your seat, “we find ourselves  _ here.” _

“Yes,” Emily sighs, inching over to place a hand on your shoulder, “and I hope there's no hard feelings about not telling you all this right away, we would have brought you in eventually, of course.” You have a feeling you wouldn't have a choice in any scenario, but you appreciate the sentiment all the same. You smile at her reassuringly, watching as the tension slowly eases from her frame, now that everything's out in the open.

Emily smiles back, the creases of it  _ almost  _ touching her honey eyes, “Good,”

“Of course,” Corvo interrupts, almost reluctantly, “there’s the issue with the whales-”

_ It’s just one problem after another, isn't it? _

“-more and more are appearing around Gristol, and with a few sparse, unconfirmed sightings of  _ black rashes.” _

“The sickness- you think it could be related to the Siren?”

“It wouldn't be so far fetched, would it?” Emily shrugs, “As you’ve noticed, the timing of all this is too perfect.”

You huff under your breath. What have you gotten yourself into now? Both Emily and Corvo seem calm enough.

_ “Oof-”  _ you grunt as Emily switches seats and plops down next to you, her arm wrapping around your shoulders without much warning. In your peripheral you can see her growing grin.

“Come on, don't look so depressed, you finally met one of those Sirens you wouldn't stop going on about as a kid!”

You scoff, “I wasn't obsessed-”

“I never said you were  _ obsessed _ ,” she drones, shrugging against you.

_ “Corvo-” _ you plead, half-heartedly, _ “help me,” _

He only chuckles at your expense, shaking his head as if to say ‘ _ you’re on your own, kid’. _

“All I’m saying is-” you groan but Emily continues unfazed, “-there was the horse-kid, the fairy-kid, and you’re the  _ mermaid-kid _ ,”

You hiss her name- a half-hearted threat, and she chuckles to herself, knowing so.

“It's nothing to be ashamed of,” she teases, “but I gotta ask, what’s it like meeting your  _ hero?  _ As dashing as you’d hoped?”

“By the Void, Emily-” you roll your eyes, smiling despite your embarrassed, flushed face, “-it's hardly a casual environment. He still won't let me over the yellow line,”

“Ah, but progress is progress,” she chimes, swaying you back and forth gently, “If anyone can do it, it's you.”

You really don't know about that, but you bite your tongue before the words escape you. They had so much faith in you, yet instead of confidence you just feel  _ uneasy _ .

Even so...at the same time, looking up into Emily and Corvo’s eyes, seeing them relaxed for just a moment, amidst all the unknown and mystery- you feel something foreign. A burning desire to meet their expectations. To go beyond like they believe you can.

You  _ will _ protect them, no matter the cost.

The only true family you’ve ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some nefarious things are going on behind the scenes in Dunwall, and our poor Reader is stuck in the middle of the unknown...
> 
> I hope you're enjoying the story so far! I'm having a blast writing the chemistry between Reader and Emily with their sibling relationship and some tidbits of Corvo's fatherly-side. More and more we'll begin to see and understand just how important family is to the Reader, and how they've gotten to where they are today. As well as, of course, their budding relationship with the Siren- which is...currently spotty at best- but progress is progress!
> 
> See you next week <3


	7. The Arcane Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter:  
> -Very very briefly the reader experiences memories of past trauma and eludes to the cause behind their Thalassophobia. It's near the end of the chapter. Nothing graphic at all, but I thought it was worth mentioning just in case ♥️

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late update...but technically it's still Saturday where I am so-! I had to do some last minute proofreading and finally late at night I have a moment to pass along this chapter...  
> 🌹That said, I hope you enjoy~✨

_ \- Finally you’ve gained some of the Siren’s trust, even if just a little. However, you’re now faced with the challenge of the language gap between you both...surely there’s some kind of way you both can connect? If not verbally? - _

When you next enter the Kaldwin vault, it’s on a Saturday. It's still somewhat early, the soft pre-noon light fading through the small slotted windows on the far wall. The whole room is dim, softened by faint sunlight and the artificial lights of the tank. It's calming, almost serene, in the way bits of dust float about; visible only when drifting beneath a sun ray.

You’ve only ever seen this room late at night, when the only source of visibility comes from hanging, blue lights. It's a stark contrast that your still-mushy brain is greatly thankful for.

You yawn gently as you juggle your tray of brunch and shut the inner vault door. The automatic sensors kick in behind you, locking several times before you’re left in quiet dawn once more.

Your nest of pillows is still there on the floor, obviously untouched since you’ve been the only person here in days. Before long, you’ve set up your tray beside you, dragging over a laptop to start the day’s research.

It's only when you’ve taken a delicious mouthful of french toast when a swishing of water catches your attention.

This time, you’re not quite as shocked when you look up to find the Siren, once again. He watches you calmly as the end of his tail shines into mortal view.

You find yourself feeling nervous under his intense, black gaze- more so due to the food in your mouth than anything else. You probably look like a chipmunk after finding a tree full of nuts, but it's not your fault you’re absolutely starving.

Regardless, you chew quickly, a hand coming up instinctively to cover your mouth (and flushed cheeks). When you finally can speak, you smile sheepishly around the raised hand. You move your fingers in a tiny wave.

“Uh, good morning.”

The Siren doesn't respond, although for the briefest of moments the corner of his lip turns up in a smirk. He flicks his tail and opens his mouth. You flinch, expecting a shrill yell that will rupture your eardrums, but instead...he makes a clicking noise, and mumbles a short phrase. A language you’ve certainly never heard before. Underwater, the hard syllables echo faintly, almost unregistered to your mainland ears. The clicking noise being the only strong consonant among otherwise airy tones.

At your silence, he tilts his head slightly, and you jump to attention. You must’ve had a dumbfounded look on your face- how rude (as well as a little embarrassing on your part).

“You never answered my question before,” you start, now back on the thoughts of language, “can you understand english?”

He had just said some form of greeting back to you, right? That must have been what that was. However, the Siren backs away an inch, expression shifting back to neutrality; possibly even a little confused.

You sigh and nod to yourself, “Hm, I suppose  _ greetings _ are common to every language…”

It’s probably safe to assume that Sirens have their own means of communication. It reminded you of something you read once in one of the old books. Something about the increase in nautical exploration urging Sirens to distance themselves from humans entirely. If they had once learned english, they'd probably long forgotten it over time.

You glance back up from your breakfast to find the Siren swimming around in slow circles, but never quite out of sight. He looks bored, but you don't miss the sharp looks he sends your way occasionally. Guarded and cold. It would seem you have a lot of warming up to do before you can learn anything…not like you can just ask him questions, seeing as he can't understand you…

_ ‘Where was that linguistics book, again?’ _

You scour the ground around you, looking for the familiar tome. In the meantime, you take another bite of the buttery, egg coated dish. You hum in delight as fresh food hits your tongue. The head chef always makes amazing breakfast, and she knows of your penchant for sweets.

The glittering shape in your peripheral stops, half behind one of the tall, jutting rocks. His tail flicks, almost subconsciously, as black eyes narrow on you in turn. Chewing slowly, you both watch each other for a beat. Slowly, the Siren drifts toward the front of the glass again, head angled towards your food.

What was that glint in his eyes? Curiosity and perhaps even... _ ah, duh. _

“Oh, I’m sorry-” you stutter, moving to stand as it occurs to you that you haven't given him his first meal of the day yet. He must be starving. No wonder he was glaring across the tank at you, gorging yourself while he sits in there like a prisoner. That last thought twists your stomach in guilty knots, but you try and brush it aside. The better you do your job, the sooner he can leave and go home. after all, you had no intention of harming him, quite the opposite.

The merman straightens as you do, angled features stiffening as you casually approach the yellow tape line. Steeling yourself, you hold up a passive hand, the other reaching for the sealed rations you keep in a neat stack. The Siren doesn't screech- or  _ whatever  _ he usually does to warn you away. Instead he crosses his arms, watching you quietly.

You wonder what he’d look like if he smiled. Not like the bitter smirks you’d seen once or twice before, but a genuine one. One that might almost touch the eyes-

You resist the urge to shake your head, biting your lip instead. What’s wrong with you- just focus on getting him food! There’s no time for such silly thoughts. He probably hates you and will continue to hate you. After all, you’re one of the humans keeping him confined, and the Void only knows what horrors he’s seen before he came here. The least you can do is be polite and kind, then it’ll all be done and over with. Like a business transaction.

Each ration is kept in a rectangular tin, seperated in portions. Normally, this sort of food is what you would feed to the whales in rehab. It's full of natural ingredients- things they would normally hunt and eat in the wild, but with added supplements. No different than those vitamin gummies you would eat every morning with Emily growing up. As soon as you crack the lid on a new bar, however, you just about gag. By the Sirens, these smell awful!- you shiver, clearing your throat. The  _ actual  _ Siren in the room, you find upon sparing a glance, is glaring towards the ration. Black eyes are sharpened like obsidian daggers.

You offer a sympathetic look, “I’m sorry, but I don't know what else you’d like to eat…”

Irritated, and probably oblivious to what you’re saying at all, the merman curls his tail just a little tighter around himself. In any other situation you might find his pout cute, but you don't want to risk him taking your reaction the wrong way.

You set down the whale food and move toward the buckets next to you. It took some effort and convincing (as well as some authority on Emily’s part), but you managed to get permission to keep some fish from the lab in the estate’s kitchen freezer. Whenever you needed more, you would go up during the night and take what was necessary. Surely the staff would start strange rumors, but you’re used to petty talk by now. The Academy was full of snobby pricks, after all. You can handle a few strange looks. At least the estate staff _have_ to serve you with a smile, whether they like it or not.

Flipping open the air-tight lid, you hold your breath and take hold of the handle. This bucket has been filled with mackerel, and smells  _ almost  _ as bad as the whale food. At least this time you’re prepared when the stench of fish hits you full force.

“Now, comes the hard part…” you mumble, shuffling over with a bucket at your side. You stare down at the yellow tape. His safety line.

Looking back up, you lock gazes with him once again. Truly, you feel almost as if you’re lost everytime you look into his endless eyes. It's so hard to gauge what he’s thinking and feeling. You will admit it's a little intimidating as well. Yet, there’s also something in his gaze that pulls you. Ensnares you.

You swallow the lump in your throat, “May I please come closer?” You gesture towards the floor with one hand, the other holding the bucket of fish. Then, you point between him and yourself- the actual distance between you. The Siren thinks about it, tail tip swishing almost silently in the water. A faint sound not too unlike slow waves on a beach- although muffled.

Then, just as you think he’ll turn and leave, he nods. A curt motion, but one that sends relief through your system all the same.

You smile, a tiny yet genuine expression, “Thank you.”

Gently as possible, you step over the line. No shrill noise grates on your ears. It's dead quiet. The silence is occupied by a thick tension, of course, but  _ progress is progress- _ to quote a friend.

You make your way over to the side of the gigantic tank, where a metal ladder is attached to the glass. Cradling the bucket against your dress shirt, you climb up slowly. With each step to the top, the Siren watches and creeps ever closer to meet you. Your heart rate rises in turn, nervousness taking hold. You just hope your hands aren't shaking like you fear.

No,  _ this  _ is the hard part- you decide. A distant,  _ fragmented _ memory comes to mind as you gaze into the water, now closer than ever. So close, without the glass barrier keeping your small body from-

_ ‘Stop. This is perfectly safe. Don't think about it.’ _

At the top of the ladder is a steel platform which extends across the top of the tank like a walkway. Halfway across is a circular platform, where the handrails disappear. Standing on top, you begin to walk across. Below you, the Siren’s form is blurred by surface tension, waving and curling around rocks and plantlife. He follows beneath you, swimming ahead only when you stop- not three feet from the circular platform.

It's silly, you  _ know  _ it's silly, but looking down into the water…

_ All you can recall is an old rusty railing. A smeared rock. The cold rush stabbing at you from the inside out. _

_ Fear, so much fear. Why won't your legs move? You have to  _ **_move_ ** _. _

You grasp the fabric over your heart, eyes shutting tightly. Shakily, your hand falls and grips the railing next to you. It's smooth. Brand new. Not a tinge of rust to be found. That revelation grounds you enough to open your eyes again.

Immediately your breath catches in your chest.

The Siren has ascended from the water, leaning his elbows onto the platform in front of you. He’s tense, black eyes staring through you and arms ready to push off at the first sign of betrayal.

_ ‘Right,’  _ you push a long breath out through your nose,  _ ‘I’m here, I’m safe.’ _

Just...don't fall in.

The Siren watches as you approach with an extra amount of caution. You chalk it up to the new, much closer, distance between you both. In fact now that you are closer, you see his scales in a whole new light. Literally, they shine like glimpses of rainbow after a storm. Then, on his neck you also spot four bumps, two on each side. They’re rounded on top, and slotted along the bottom. They appear almost like...gills. Although you don't want to stare too long, so it's a discovery you decide you’ll save for another day.

You lower a hand into the bucket as you finally find yourself within reaching distance. Although your heart is pounding away, and bad memories linger on the edges of your mind, you force yourself to take out a fish and hand it out for him to take. The Siren stares hard at you, then the mackerel, then back to you again. Maybe it's the endless black of his eyes, but you feel  _ exposed _ . Like the terror is clear on your face for all to see- and maybe to an extent it is. He still seems weary, and nothing happens for a long moment.

Finally, the fear of being suspended above water so deep becomes too much. You sigh, setting down the bucket and backing away with your arms crossed. The Siren simply blinks at you.

An apology rises in your throat, but you grit your teeth tight to stop it. What would it matter anyway? He can't understand you, and besides you have no reason to apologize. Just a silly childish fear. Petty intrusive thoughts.

Ignoring his piercing stare, you make your way back down the ladder. The sigh that leaves you once you feel solid ground beneath your feet is nothing short of relieved. You return to your nest of pillows and books, breakfast probably cold by now. You huff, picking up the plate and sitting back down with it nestled in your lap. It may be cold now, but french toast is one of your favorite brunch foods and you were going to finish it, Spirits be damned. (Also, keeping your hands and mind busy is good to stop starting to pick through the contents in the bucket. There’s only three mackerels inside, but he combs through it deliberately, as if looking for something specific. You huff around a bite of cold eggs.

_ ‘If he knew the effort I went through to get those for him, maybe he wouldn't be so picky.’ _

And yet, with a flick of his tail, he grabs the whole bucket and drags it below the surface with him. He sinks down with it and spares you a fleeting glance before hiding himself in a shaded alcove of rock. You don't stare for long, but you catch glimpses of fish scales and puffs of blood as he bites into it. You try not to grimace at the sight and turn instead to your silverware and sweet, (and thankfully  _ not _ _ bloody _ ) treat. At least he’s eating something...that’s one worry down.

What had you been thinking of again? Before breakfast...oh!  _ Communication _ . You remember you had been looking for a specific book before. One that focused on linguistics and behaviors of Sirens, based on ancient myths. As good a start as any. Even if it was far fetched, anything goes at this point. Sirens are  _ real-  _ so why not take a chance on some fanatical, blasphemous book?

As you finish your final bites of toast and eggs, you finally catch a glimpse of the cover. It had been pushed away when you stood up last, covered by a spare quilt. There’s a few post-its stuck inside, marking specific pages, so you flip it open and start where you left off.

_ Chapter 13.1 ~ Ancient Language _

_ As I have previously explained, an ancient culture of humans branched in two. One remaining mortal and populating the lands and sky while the other evolved with the ocean and it's abyssal magic. These sea dwellers became known as Leviathans. _

_ While we raced forward and sought natural philosophy, our oceanic cousins retained many ancient customs: superstition, magic, and even the languages of our primordial ancestors. Sirens, with their many eyes and jagged claws, drew deeper and deeper into the blackness that their eyes grew dark and fangs sharper than any known carnivore. _

You spare an upward glance. The  _ Leviathan _ before you is reclined back, munching on the remaining bits of a mackerel almost lazily.

He certainly didn't  _ look  _ like a monster with “many eyes” and “jagged claws”. In fact, he’s pouting again, picking at a scale that’s gotten stuck in his teeth. He blinks owlishly at it before flicking it away and continuing to nibble at the fish. The sight brings a tiny, amused smile to your face which you immediately bite down on to stifle.

_ Despite their chaotic and bloodthirsty natures, these cousins of ours speak in a way that has been long lost to our innocent ears. Elegant songs imbued with Void magic. Pure and almost ethereal. _

_ But be warned, my curious reader! For this beautiful language is how the Siren lures in its prey. They sing songs of love and glory before grabbing their victims and dragging them down to a watery death. _

Geez, this guy sounds like one of the Overseers that would always come and preach to the students. You huff and skip a few lines ahead, pausing only when you turn the page and find an illustration. It's a simplistic drawing of what looks like a human man kneeling over a beach, his hands outstretched toward a mermaid making a similar grasping motion. Between the two figures is a strange set of symbols. On their hands are matching marks; sharp, almost tribal looking runes. You’re not totally sure, but there's obviously some kind of connection between the human and mermaid.

_ Chapter 13.3 ~ The Arcane Bond _

_ A Leviathan’s magic is a very potent thing. They can call any animal they desire to their disposal, summon natural disasters at will, and even shapeshift into whatever they require to lure their prey. _

_ Is it not in human nature to be jealous of such abilities? Have we no right to the same magic as our cousins? The Void touches us all at one point or another, so I find it only natural that there have been occasions in which a human is blessed in the same way as a Leviathan. _

You genuinely can't tell whether this person is  _ for _ or  _ against _ the use of magic. The author goes on for a bit longer, rambling on about the “history of the isles” and something about “the marked ones”- you chalk it down as fanatical stuff. Pure fantasy.

Yet, just as you are about to toss the novel into the  _ ‘Crazy and Unhelpful’  _ pile, something catches your eye…

_ With an Arcane Bond, a human receives many boons equaling that of a Leviathan’s. Magic abilities, enhanced instincts, understand the language of Leviathans, and much more. Going by my research, I have come to the conclusion that such gifts vary between those who are chosen. A Leviathan’s chosen, or marked, shares in this magic. _

You reread the line a few times before reaching for your mark-up pen.

... _ Magic abilities, enhanced instincts,  _ **_understand the language of Leviathans_ ** _ , and much more… _

You’ve skimmed over three books in two days, and this novel is the only one you’ve found so far with any sort of clue. Well, there was that tome on  _ Rituals of the Void _ , but you made a strict rule of no sacrificing animals or human children. You’re not a monster.

Let's just say it has been one ride of a study session. You’re positive being caught with any of these books would lead to your eternal confinement within Abbey walls.

But anyway…

You stick a note on this page and the one before with the illustration. Meanwhile, the Siren has finished his breakfast and now lays against a bundle of kelp. He looks stiff and uncomfortable, staring ahead at nothing, but better than before at least. He’s so angular- so thin- that you were worried for a while, even before he appeared. He hadn't been eating, you know that for a fact, and while mackerel may not be his favorite, it's certainly better than what Corvo had been tossing over the top.

You flip the page and stare at the picture. How much truth is there to this crazy story? Could a Siren really pass along magic to a human? You know he can use some sort of supernatural abilities. From his shrill warnings to the invisibility, there could even be things he hasn't shown you yet.

The runes drawn around the two figures and their matching hand symbols; perhaps he would recognize them? At least then you’d know if this book was fanatic ramblings or not. Maybe he’d even be open to the idea. Then you could communicate... _ theoretically _ .

Or he could hurt you with it.

You bite your lip, thumbing the page anxiously. You don't think he would attack you or drown you, like the author warned. If he really wanted to hurt you, surely he would have done something worse than give you a migraine. Besides, today you got so close you could see the shine in his eyes, and the soaked strands of his hair-

You take a  _ big  _ sip of coffee.

_ Nope nope, that was a creepy thought- stop that. _

No, you’ve got a job to do, Void be damned; and you're determined to see it through. What’s the worst thing that could happen? He laughs at you for believing in silly rumors?

You stand up slowly, as you always do, and take the book with you. Immediately, the Siren’s gaze is drawn to your much shorter form, black eyes blinking at your approach. Even as you step over the yellow line he does nothing but watch.

You try and smile, although you’re unsure how nervous you really appear, “I might have a solution to our communication problem,” you gesture between him and yourself, fingers touching your throat as you speak. Interested, the Siren flicks his tail and expertly maneuvers himself toward you. You're only briefly distracted by the beautiful scales before you flip through the book.

“You have magic, right?” You mumble, even though he can't understand you. Finally you find the page with the illustration.

“Do you know what an Ar-” you begin to ask but jump as you realize how close he is. Obviously, there’s the glass in the way, but he’s always maintained at least two feet from your side. Now, he's within a foot- in very...uh,  _ comfortable _ distance. As if you’re two friends having a personal conversation and not a human trying to converse with a merman.

At your pause, he tilts his head, black bangs drifting with the motion. It's almost adorable.

You clear your throat, “An  _ Arcane Bond?”  _ You enunciate, feeling more antsy than before now that he’s close this time. The words bounce around the room but he seems unaffected.

You sigh and turn the book around, pressing it closer to the glass for him to see properly. Curiously, the Siren leans closer, black eyes narrowing as he inspects the book and picture.

  
  
  


What happens next is so quick and jarring you hardly know what happens at all.

  
  
  


First, his eyes widen a fraction, and he glances quickly between you and the picture. Then a grimace rises on his face, neutral expression twisting into something angry and uncomfortable. The tops of his pale cheeks are dusted pink (probably in anger)- that much you glean before he spins around irritated and disappears in a cloud of shining scales and rock. In fact, the shock of his reaction comes literally. His form, as if fades and turns invisible,  _ sparks- _ which spread quickly in the water. The flash sends you falling backward with a yelp, book flying somewhere, violently cast aside.

On impulse you scramble back over the yellow tape line, wide eyes watching for any movement…

  
  
  
  


But he’s gone.

  
  


It's just you, the empty tank, soft pattering of filter bubbles, and the remnants of electricity, crackling on the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay if there's one thing you may figure out about me is that I am a Bitch for lore~! I aDORE world-building whether it's within the constraints of what's canon or AU / headcanon. In this chapter we finally got a glimpse as some of the AU-based-lore that I've been building and playing around with...so I hope you're as intrigued as I am because there's more to come!
> 
> Also, yes unfortunately the Reader and the Outsider's relationship is *still* rocky as ever but as I've said before I can't help a good cliffhanger...also they can't just fall over one meeting! This is a slow burn after all ;) and I always build a proper foundation in my stories.
> 
> As always, I hope you're still enjoying the story <3 Thank you for reading my little passion project, and let me know what you think. See you next week for some Reader and Emily shenanigans as well as a new (yet perhaps *familiar*) character...✨


	8. Antiques Market I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last we saw our poor, determined Reader they were struggling to make a connection with the Siren, given they speak completely different languages. Then, after a misunderstanding involving an old, fanatical book, the Siren has stormed off. Once again disappearing from sight.
> 
> So, naturally it's time for a fun chapter of shopping and foreshadowing...right???

_\- She’s trying to help, and you appreciate it. One day off for fun in town, that’s all she asked. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop thinking about the Siren and that strange, foreboding book. -_

You don't know what you did wrong, but you feel _awful_ about it.

One minute it was going amazing between you both. You ate breakfast together, and he was the most comfortable he had been in weeks. Or at least you had thought so.

That picture, the _Arcane Bond_ \- or whatever it really was- had deeply upset the Siren. Enough so that he had been sparking with rage- _literally!_

You sigh for probably the millionth time that following afternoon. Emily, your trusted companion for the day, sighs along with you but her sharp exhale is one of annoyance rather than distress.

“I told you, it's not your fault,” she tries to console you, but you’re too busy staring out the window. As if, by watching the blurred buildings and people go by, it’ll distract you from the chaotic storm that’s tearing up your stomach.

“I just feel so terrible, Em. He opened up to me and I asked him for _magic-”_

Emily clears her throat sharply, masking your final word and slip-up. You roll your eyes in response. Corvo and Emily are paranoid, and while you now know why, it doesn't make it any easier to keep up with. You have to constantly make sure you’re not being listened in on or watched when you leave the Kaldwin estate. Even inside the manor you call home, you have to be weary of the staff.

It's... _exhausting_.

Hence, you suppose, why Emily has decided to drag you out of the office for the day. At first you pushed against the idea. After all, the whale in rehab is still suffering and there’s _more_ than enough to do in all the other sectors that made up your department. But, with a few simple calls and one email, Emily managed to take you for the day. As far as anyone else knows, the Director and CEO are attending a government meeting in northern Dunwall, and would be gone most of the day including travel times.

Ah, the perks of being the boss.

“I’m sure he’ll forgive you,” she tries again, “it's just a misunderstanding. Like you said, communication has been difficult- you speak _vastly_ different languages!”

“I know, I just…”

“Give it time.” Emily presses, patting your arm gently before reclining back on the plush seats of the car.

You relent and lean back with her. You know she’s right. He just needs to cool off a bit, then as soon as you can, you’ll apologize for your culturally-insensitive behavior.

Was it the runes that upset him? Or the ritual itself that was being depicted? The illustration featured a human man and merwoman, perhaps it’s considered offensive to mix species like that or even... _inappropriate?_ Oh, by the Spirits, could you have actually implied something like _that?!_

Emily calls your name, “...you okay?”

“Why?” You stutter, and she tilts her head into your vision. Honey-warm eyes flitting over your features quickly, and obviously worried.

“Your face is _very_ red.”

Immediately your hands rise up to cover your cheeks which you find to be, just as she said, quite warm. Emily scoffs a laugh beside you, and not a second later is a tissue stuffed into your hands.

“It’s gonna be okay, I promise,” she pats your back and leans toward her own window again, “and it looks like we’re almost there.”

She must've mistaken your red face for sorrow rather than pure and utter embarrassment. Still, you gratefully pocket the tissue and take a long drink of your water bottle.

The sleek, company owned vehicle slows to a stop outside a parking ramp. You’re both in the heart of Dunwall’s shopping district, where there’s rows upon rows of stores, restaurants, and other tourist attractions. You haven't been here in ages, given how attached you were to your studies. While attending the Academy of Natural Philosophy, you worked hard and spent a lot of time indoors with a book or screen in front of you. The only times you took a break to leave campus was with Emily during rotating weekends. Sure, many of your peers lived the full college life of partying and drinking, but you're just _quieter_ than that, you suppose. Sure, parties could be fun, but you just had too much to do. A test was always around the corner, or maybe you just wanted the extra paid time at your internship, etc.

The clicking and sliding open of the passenger’s door makes you jump in your seat. The friendly face of Samuel peeks inside, “We’ve arrived.”

“Thank you, Samuel,” Emily replies and steps out, yanking you by the wrist to join her.

The streets are busy today. Not packed, but there are still crowds out and about enjoying the early summer air. The city is full of the sounds of life. Vehicles running up and down mainstreet, music of faraway bars and attractions, and the consistent murmurs of people having conversations.

As you turn around and get your bearings, Emily hands a generous tip to Samuel and he beams in response, “Lady Emily, you don't have to do that-”

“Nonsense,” she waves him off with a smile, “take the day off, you work hard for us. I’ll call you when we're ready to go home.”

Scratching the back of his neck, the kind old man grins, “Well...thank you kindly. You two have fun.”

“Oh, we will!” Emily smirks, gripping your arm and pulling you along with her. You manage a polite _‘thank you’_ to Samuel before being taken completely out of sight. The driver simply waves in response, and then you’re lost in the crowd.

You’ve always liked Samuel. Long before you came into the family and even before Emily was born, Samuel had been good friends with Corvo and the Kaldwin chauffeur. He knows these streets better than most Gristolians and, according to Corvo, he's a decent fisherman as well. When you were young and started school for the first time alongside Emily, he was the one to drive you there and pick you up. Always quiet, but still just as warm and polite. Asking about your day and what exciting things happened. He consistently referred to you and Emily with proper, noble titles, even when you asked him not to.

 _“Forgive me,”_ he once admitted, _“but you're a Kaldwin now. So, that makes you sort of my boss. I can't go around disrespecting my boss, y’know?”_

As a child, uncomfortable and unused to such posh pristine life, the noble titles irked you. It had felt like you were trying to be a different person not yourself. However, overtime you actually grew fond of it. You wouldn't want to be a noble _all_ the time, obviously, but you learned to embrace that side of your new life. If anything, the experience helped you grow in many ways into the person you are today.

“So, where do you wanna go first?” Emily asks you, a warm smile on her face. You mirror it on instinct, finding her natural charms just as contagious.

She’s still the same girl from all those years ago- in some ways. Ever since her mother passed and she took on the company, she had become her own adult, too. Elegant and composed and always making the right choices, knowing what had to be done. You admire her for the strength and courage. You're not sure if you could have done something like that. When you were a kid, you were so fragile. Even as a young teen, you felt constant fear of others around you. But Emily...she stood up for you. Showed you what real bravery looked like.

Yet, while you _admire_ the collected, articulate CEO of Empire Industries, you _love_ Emily Kaldwin. As you ramble off some of your favorite clothing stores and follow along behind her, you catch glimpses beneath her carefully constructed mask. Grins that show a little bit too much teeth to be considered anything but youthful. A skip in her step whenever she just couldn't wait to check out a particularly interesting storefront. She’s like your older sister in so many ways, but every now and then you enjoy being her best friend, as well.

She calls your name, taking your attention away from the items you had been previously inspecting.

“Look at this, the Antiques Market is open today,” Emily straightens her coat, turning towards you expectantly.

“Do you wanna check it out?” You supply, and she nods quickly in response.

The Antiques Market is basically your run-of-the-mill Farmer’s market. However in this nicer part of the city (basically, higher class), people decided to settle on a more “sophisticated” name. So perhaps it would be more accurate to call it a “Noble Yardsale” Market.

The entire area has been carved out and flattened, allowing for rows upon rows of stalls and booths. Land is auctioned off to local people from upper and lower Dunwall as well as outside groups, leading to a fairly diversified amount of _stuff_ . You’ve been here once or twice before while they were open. Lots of specialty stands usually. Metalworks, porcelain knick-knacks, antique toys, handmade clothes, and lots and _lots_ of art. Apparently, the original Antiques Market had been started by a man from Morley. A painter himself, who set up shopmore and more people started joining him, adding a splash of colorful culture to the otherwise technological, industrial city; a tradition held to this day.

You’re not much of an artist yourself (unless you count stick figures), but even you appreciate the gathering of cultures in one, lively place. Although, there's one downside... _the crowds._

If you thought the city streets were populated, the Antiques Market is _booming_. So much noise all around is like a kick start to your brain. You almost jump when Emily grabs your hand.

“Where do you want to go first?” She asks.

You look around, gauging what stands you can see between the sea of fellow shoppers. To the right is a long line of artists selling work both traditional and printed. To the left are more handmade goods like dinnerware and furniture. Somewhere near that side, you spy flashes of metalworking booths.

“What about over there?” You point, and Emily strains a little on her heels to see what’s got your attention.

A gentle, yet excited, smile rises on her face, “Are those windchimes?” She doesn't give you a chance to respond, walking ahead anyway, “let’s go see.”

You follow along best you can, but are almost blocked out of sight twice along the way. You apologize quickly to an especially crabby looking older man, before nearly bumping into Emily herself. It’d be too easy to get sidetracked in the sea of people.

“They sound so beautiful,” Emily muses, as if sensing you beside her.

She’s right. You might have heard it faintly before but now, standing in front of them, the echoing songs made by the hanging chimes are much more clear. Soft and elegant. Each singing it’s own harmony that feels so perfect when hung in their own, unique symphony. The stand has cut-out attachments, made to look like tree branches, and on the limbs are wind chimes. Carefully tied up for passerby to see- and there’s plenty of that. A small crowd bustles around the area, looking over and admiring the works on display.

“Aw, Em-” you call, bringing you both towards one in particular, “look it's a whale,”

The silver wind chime before you is small, but the metal tubes long and waved, much like the ocean. At the top is a beautifully crafted whale, just like the ones you’ve always admired and researched. The silver figure is surrounded in tiny engravings. Intricate designs woven around like vines with tiny flowers. Overall, not flashy by any means, but certainly breathtaking in its own right. The refined design could best be described as _subtle_ \- something to be appreciated the longer one gazes upon it.

“I wonder if they have any depicting Sirens?” Emily trails off next to me, her soft tone equal parts genuine as they are mischievous.

You know deep down she means well with her teasing, but then all that comes to mind is that stupid old book and the Siren’s displeased response. You don't need an _Arcane Bond_ (or whatever that old tome was talking about) with him to know he was truly violated in that moment. You’d never seen him enraged before. Enough to disappear in a cloud of electricity and aggression. It felt like... _betrayal._

That empty feeling spreads in your chest again. Gnawing guilt and an anxious _need_ for a solution of some kind.

Emily is perceptive, so she must recognize her mistake from your lack of a stuttering response. Her hand squeezes your shoulder briefly, but all it does is make you more uncomfortable. Skin prickling beneath a suddenly too-warm-sweater (why did Emily let you wear a sweater in the _middle_ of Harvests?! You’ve been out of sorts all morning. You really are helpless…)

 _‘Why did we decide coming to such a crowded place when I feel like_ **_this_ ** _was a good idea?’_ you wonder sullenly.

“They’re all homemade. Designed and crafted by my sons and myself,” a new voice calls appreciatively.

A short, stocky, old woman smiles at us politely. A careful hand rises up and adjusts her glasses which sit (almost comically large) on her crooked nose.

Thankfully, Emily has always been the one to make smalltalk. Perhaps it’s guilt from her previous slip of the tongue that pushes her almost literally between you and the woman. Still, Emily doesn’t exclude you from the conversation. She holds her arm around your back, hand firmly placed on your shoulder- which is still prickling beneath her touch. You just hope you don’t look like the nervous wreck you feel to be.

You take a deep breath and smile in turn. _Just breathe._ You have to be strong for Emily. It’s like she said earlier, you’d have the time to make up with the Siren. Today was for you both to enjoy and relax. By the Void, she already went through the trouble of easing your schedule and using her CEO title to her advantage- the least you can do is be grateful and _try_ to have fun.

“Your family makes these chimes?” Emily asks, genuinely impressed.

The elder’s smile widens as she nods a few times, “Oh yes! Metal crafting is a skill passed down for almost four generations now, and that one-“ she points toward the whale windchime you had been admiring before, “-was carefully made by my son, Jonathan,”

“You must be proud,” Emily nods, looking back to the whale figurine with a newfound interest, “these are exceptionally made.”

She then turns to you- who had been previously standing silent with your hands wringing themselves just to give them _something_ to do.

“My friend was the one to find it first, actually,”

The woman’s smile crinkles further in a show of obvious pride, “Oh?”

You clear your throat, “Y-yes, it’s...incredibly well made. The details are so...real. _Life-like_ , I mean.”

Her gaze is practically sparkling now, the sunny expression made more obvious through the lens of her spectacles. She folds her wrinkled hands together as she addresses the both of you, “Well, I’m glad you like the work so much. Why don’t you have a look around? We have many more,”

“We will, thank you very much,” Emily nods, bowing her head slightly as she does so. You mirror it, a thin smile on your lips.

The woman waves a hand, _“Patricia Meyers,_ ” she corrects, “Patricia will do, darlings. My family and I set up shop here most weekends, so feel free to stop by if you’re visiting the Antiques Market again,”

“Thank you very much, Miss Meyers, we will,”

As soon as the old woman, Patricia, turns away to help another customer, Emily smiles your way, “She was sweet,”

“Could probably tell you have money, too,” you can’t help but muse, with the best of intentions of course. You know Miss Meyers was being genuine when she was praising her son’s work, and asked you both to come back. However, this is a market, after all. The primary goal is to _sell_ the artwork, building a clientbase is only natural as a secondary task and means to an end.

Emily rolls her eyes with a soft scoff, but her knowing smile says otherwise, “Always the pragmatist,”

Although still a little overwhelmed by the noise within and around you, you managed a chuckle, “I am a scientist. Only natural that I think of such things first,”

For some reason, Emily’s smile falters. Just for a moment. So fast, like a micro-expression, and it’s gone before you can fully register it. You’re left trailing behind her once again, wondering if you even saw it at all. Did you say something wrong? Your stomach makes another agonizing flip, as your brain scrambles through recent memory. Emily knows very well how rational you are- _pragmatic_ as she elegantly put it- so why did she seem hesitant all of the sudden? It’s a childish fear, you’re aware of yourself enough to admit that, but was she... _disappointed?_

“Emily,” you speak up over the crowd, pulling gently on her sleeve.

You fully intend to speak your mind- clear the air- but as she turns with an expectant tilt of her head, you freeze up. She seems completely normal now, no trace of dissatisfaction to be found.

The question rises in your throat, then bounces back against clenched teeth. An invisible reverberation that has you choking on a pointless huff of air.

Instead, you smile and look past her, “aren’t those dresses cute?”

Curiously, Emily’s golden gaze is drawn from you, and immediately she agrees. “Hm, dresses aren’t my thing, but they do have some other options. Let’s go look,”

As she walks away, you let out what is probably the biggest sigh you’ve held in all day.

You’re just being silly. If Emily has a problem with someone she has the confidence to speak it aloud and address it. You, however, unfortunately do not have this magical ability. A part of you envies it as much as you respect it, but right now, you know you’re being irrational. It’s probably just the stress of the crowds. Growing up you _never_ saw many people at once. Your mother made sure of that-

You bite your lip as the thought comes to mind and is then _immediately_ shelved. That’s a can of storms to be opened on another day.

For now, you just have to try and _relax-!_

“Miss Kaldwin? _Emily_ Kaldwin?” A particularly curious voice pipes up behind us. Emily lowers the embroidered blouse you had been looking at together and turns to greet them. It’s the tone that registers with you first. An immediate tell. You sigh inwardly, it was only a matter of time before _someone_ recognized the young CEO.

As you expect, the man before you is dressed sharply. His black suit pressed almost _too_ perfectly to his straight and confident gait. Quite honestly it looks incredibly uncomfortable, what with its formal long sleeves, coat, and even a high-reaching scarf-like accessory that you think is meant to appear like a part of the outfit, but just looks _odd_ . Who wears that many layers this time of year? (Apart from _you_ , of course, but you just threw on a sweater half-asleep, he appears to be the sort of man to have a suit for each hour of the day!) His smile is soft at least, sitting politely on a barely wrinkled face, but his eyes speak differently. They’re sharp. Calculating- like any hardened businessman who’s made it big in Dunwall. Always looking for the next deal.

Apparently, that next deal is with Empire Industries, and he just ran into its head.

Emily must be as disappointed as you are for the interruption- at least you’d guess as much. After all, this entire day was constructed for the very purpose of _avoiding_ work. However, if that is true she certainly doesn't show the emotion on her face. Emily Kaldwin mastered the ability to make and wear perfect masks long before she inherited the company. She’s used to it by now, that you can say for certain.

“Yes, you would be correct; and you are..?” Emily returns, extending a nonchalant hand, which the man takes in a gentle shake.

His icy blue gaze turns upward in glee as his guess is confirmed. Onyx black hair- tinged a blue hue- falls in combed waves over the left side of his face. He doesn’t look old at first glance, but as you watch more closely you find more wrinkles. Thin, light lines; the obvious beginnings of age. You might guess he would be in his mid-to-late 50’s.

It’s strange. His appearance on the surface level doesn’t bother you- as you’ve met your fair share of hardened, greedy businessmen. No, it's the feeling of _familiarity_ that unsettles you. As if you’ve known this man in the past, yet you are sure as the Void is endless that you’ve never spoken before. His eye shape and color. You have a deep suspicion that you’ve seen it before. Like those eyes have gazed upon you once in the distant past. Except, whenever that may have been, they weren’t this unfeeling. So frigid. He is foreign to you yet also unnervingly familiar.

Only when his eyes finally sweep over to you are you snapped out of your train of thought. A cold feeling washes over you under his scrutinizing gaze. You swallow.

_Shit, I wasn’t listening at all..._

Emily’s calm hand on your back is a welcome gesture, contrasted against the frigid eyes of your surprise guest. She calls your name gently, “would you mind giving us a few moments?”

“Sure,” you nod, smiling as you walk away to give them some space. It’s only then that you notice the two people behind him. A man and woman, each dressed just as clean in suits of black. They must either be security, or really stuck up assistants. They watch you as you pass, but you keep your eyes glued to the ground.

_Probably just some rich snobs._

  
  


…

  
  


You left and waited a few minutes next to a food stall across the grounds. When it became apparent that Emily’s surprise meeting would take much longer than you had hoped, you moved and decided to explore a bit.

The grounds were much bigger than you had thought. Rows of booths turned into labyrinths, and it was more confusing the deeper in you got.

What you’re trying to say is...you got lost. Rather, you _are_ lost. As in _presently_.

At one of the biggest, busiest events in Dunwall.

First, you asked around for directions to the windchime stall- since that had been the most recent in your memory. However, after being turned around a handful of times, you come to the fast realization that there are, in fact, _multiple_ family owned stalls at this market who sell homemade metalworks. If you thought your anxiety was bad before, now without Emily as an anchor you’re jumping at pretty much every noise or touch.

 _‘Why didn’t I bring my phone with me today?’_ You curse yourself internally, teeth busy worrying away at your lower lip. You’ve been a nervous mess ever since you upset the Siren, and your worries have scrambled your otherwise sharp mind. Normally, you’re quite prepared, however the last 24 hours have been stacked against you.

Just as you begin looking for some security personnel, you’re caught mid-swivel as you collide with someone else. You jerk in alarm as they let out a wheeze of surprised breath.

Immediately, you begin to apologize, face flushing in embarrassment, “Are you alright? I-I didn’t mean to bump into you, I’m sorry,”

The taller woman turns the rest of the way, her dark narrowed eyed zoning in on you. For a moment, you fear she might get irritated with you, given her stony expression. Thankfully, however it melts away quickly, and a sharp chuckle leaves her lips.

“You should watch where you’re going, kid,”

 _Kid?_ You’re barely a year younger than Emily- you’re 23 years old and soon to be 24 this Rain! You undergo enough prejudice for your age from your staff at the company, so you certainly hate when it comes from a stranger. Sure, you’re short but _kid_ is a little much isn’t it? You didn’t graduate with your master’s degree from one of the best colleges in the Isles to be called a _kid_.

“You okay?” She asks, crossing her arms, which are covered by the long white sleeves of her coat- which you would judge in such hot weather but you, in your sweater, aren’t one to judge. What’s with so many people wearing so many layers today..? 

You clear your throat, trying extra hard to keep the annoyance from her previous comment off of your own expression, “I’m the one who bumped into you,”

She nods, thoughtfully, and the curtness of the motion shakes some short, dark brown hair into her eyes, “Yeah, but you look a little... _frazzled_.”

“Oh,” you reply, lamely, suddenly very interested in the booths behind her (sets upon sets of porcelain dinner plates and fancy tea cups, all stacked and hung as the shopkeeper tries to sell them to a crowd of onlookers), “I haven’t been to the Antiques Market in a while, so I thought I’d just explore a bit.” You chuckles nervously, “I-I was just caught up in admiring the stalls, I wasn’t paying attention.”

The stranger thinks on your words for a moment longer than you’d typically accept as comfortable. There’s something calculated in the way she looks at you. _Suspicious_ would be a close enough way to describe it, although you can’t even begin to fathom why. Did she think you had purposefully tried to bump into her?

  
  


“You’re _lost_ , aren’t you?”

  
  


_Oh…_

  
  


“Is it that obvious?” You blink, smiling sheepishly.

The woman smirks, “A little, but don’t worry, I am too...sort of.”

“You are?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead she waves a hand for you to follow, and you both make your way down through the crowds.

“I come to the market every so often to find new stuff. Potential trades- things like that,” the woman tells you, eyes casually drawn ahead but glancing your way as she speaks, “but it’s always changing n’ growing.”

You hum and nod in agreement. The woman doesn’t say anything after that, and it’s a minute of walking before she breaks the silence.

“So, you here alone?”

You have a feeling she isn’t _trying_ to be creepy when she says that, and- as if reading your expression- she sighs almost sheepishly and looks ahead, “Just thought I could help you find them, if you were in a group or something.”

“It’s fine,” you wave her off, smiling gratefully. She seems very nice, and she must know her way around here better than you, given the way she steps around crowds and booths without a second thought. She could save you an hour of stumbling around on tired feet. What have you got to lose? “I’m here with my friend...but I lost sight of her a while ago.” The woman nods, her eyes narrowing ahead.

“Sure, tell me what she looks like and we’ll look around,”

“Well...thank you,” you smile. Perhaps your luck is going up again, after all.

The woman slows her stride, sending a smirk your way, “I’ll do it...for a price.”

 _‘Of course,’_ you internally sigh, already reaching for your wallet. _‘Why would she help a total stranger? Do I really look that helpless?’_

“No no,” the woman grumbles, waving off the coin in your hand, “just buy me lunch and we’ll be even.”

You blink at her. A loss for words.

“You...want food?”

“Haven’t eaten all day,” she shakes her head, mumbling defensively.

You hum to yourself in contemplation as the far off scent of food hits you. All at once you’re starting to feel peckish, too. Surely, Emily would still be busy for a while...she might not even notice your absence at all. A snack couldn’t hurt, could it?

“Alright, well thank you, again. It’s a deal.” You nod, smiling politely as you can, “My name is-“ and as you offer it to her, satisfaction sparking behind her eyes. She nods, her smirk wavering only for a moment before she gives her own name.

  
  
  
  
  


_“Meagan Foster.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay longest chapter so far with a satisfying 4,808 words (I say that but looking at my future outlines there will be /much/ longer ones lmao you guys don't even know what's coming) - but damn we're getting into it aren't we?
> 
> Billie Lurk? What could she possibly be doing in Dunwall?? Whatever it is, our dear Reader is once again totally clueless to it...
> 
> Next week will be part two of the Antiques Market chapter. Hopefully the Reader can find Emily and maybe she won't be totally furious at them for just drifting off and getting lost. But you'll have to wait and see how it all turns out~
> 
> See you soon, loves and hope you enjoy 💕✨


	9. Antiques Market II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter:  
> -In the beginning of this chapter, the Reader has a very brief sort of flashback to a graphic event of their past. Again, it's very brief but mentions //blood// and I thought it worth mentioning.

_ \- Your day off at the market hasn’t gone as smooth as you hoped, but luckily a kind stranger named Meagan Foster has offered to help. An interesting character for sure... - _

“So,” you mutter idly while eyeing up the stall before you both, “you mentioned coming here to find  _ potential trades?  _ Are you...a merchant of some kind?”

You newfound companion, Meagan, grunts in thought, arms crossed as she glares into the menu. After agreeing to walk around together until you found Emily (a still  _ incredibly  _ generous offer on her part- of which you’re only a little suspicious), you both agreed on grabbing a bite to eat. As payment for Meagan’s guidance, of course.

She had offered to let you decide, but you refused, intending to try something new. All too gratefully, Meagan had pulled you both over to a food stall that sold barbecue. The warmth coming from the grills is intense, when combined with the summer heat, but the smells are well worth it. Even you are starting to feel hungry, just at the smell of freshly grilled meat on the air.

“Yeah,” Meagan finally answers, eyes still narrowed in on the hanging menu before you, “sort of. I’m a trader- I travel around and find rare stuff, then sell it elsewhere for a higher price.”

“I see,” you reply, stepping ahead as the line moves in front of you, “How do you like to travel? Planes?”

“Na,” she waves a hand dismissively, “too expensive. I have a ship,”

“You’ve  _ sailed _ around the Isles?” Your eyes must be wide with interest, because she smirks knowingly.

“You like sailing?”

You shake your head, “Actually, not really…”

_ A rusty railing gives way, sharp metal smeared red as tiny hands grasp for leverage. There’s the sickening crack of bone against stone and a silent gasp as the ocean swirls in- _

You swallow down the nausea that comes with the intrusive memory. You stick your nails into your palm, grounding yourself with the pain.

“I just don’t like being stuck out at sea, specifically,” you provide, unable to meet her gaze to judge her reaction, “but I’ve always wanted to travel around, see the world.”

Thankfully, it’s your turn to order by the time you’ve finished rambling. You’re grateful for the attention to be pulled away and instead placed on the food. Fortunately, Meagan seems content with the distraction as well, a grin forming in your peripheral.

“I hope you’re ready to make good on your end of the deal, kid.”

…

Meagan Foster was not kidding when she said she hadn’t eaten all day. She ordered two hamburgers, a side of freshly cut fries, a tall icy drink, and is quickly doing away with it all over the table you now share. Every now and then, another group of people will pass, shooting you curious looks, or rather at your companion who messily munches away at her feast. Despite the fleetingness of it, their attention continues to make you uncomfortable. Granted, you grew up beside Emily Kaldwin, then-heir-now-CEO of one of the most influential companies in the Isles, so observant looks and overly friendly strangers are no new concept to you. However, at least you have privacy when you eat together...and you’re also just on edge today.

Another couple walks by, eyes raking over your forms and only causing you to further curl into yourself on your seat. While you avoid acknowledging them, Meagan shoots the two a dirty look and they quickly scurry off into the crowds of the market.

She scoffs around a bite of her second burger, rolling her eyes. How does that not bother her? You can’t help but be mystified as well as a little envious.

One of her eyebrows lifts slightly, and she swallows her bite to speak, “What’s wrong with you?”

You simply blink back at her, hands clasped together underneath the table, “What?”

“You’re making a weird face.” Meagan states and you sigh, realizing just how uncomfortably you’ve been sitting. All at once, you force yourself to relax...somewhat. Judging by Meagan’s reaction, it’s not much.

“I just…” you clear your throat, “can we maybe go soon? I just need help getting back to the main gate, I’ll be out of your hair if you could just-”

_ “By the Sirens, kid,”  _ she grumbles, setting down her drink. “just  _ sit and breathe _ . I’m almost done.”

Meagan wordlessly offers you a french fry, which you take after a moment of hesitation. She nods your way as she reaches for the burger again, “So, I told you about my work, what’s up with you? You from around here or..?”

You nod, “Yeah, I recently started a new job. I graduated from college a few weeks ago, actually.”

“Hmm  _ congwuats-”  _ Meagan mutters around a bite. You smile in turn, nibbling on your gifted fry.

“where from?” she adds on a moment later.

“The Academy of Natural Philosophy,” you reply, and she scoffs.

“Didn’t take you as the Academy type. Usually the only people who go  _ there  _ are the high class and famous.”

“Well,” you cross your arms before you, leaning onto them gently, “you’re definitely not wrong. However, I didn’t grow up like them...well, sort of-”

She narrows her eyes again- an expression you might have interpreted as annoyance, but you’re already starting to pick up on her body language, so you know she’s simply curious- “You either  _ are _ or you  _ aren’t.  _ Which is it?”

“I’m  _ not _ , but I was adopted at a young age into a family that...happened to have the funds.” You answer quickly.

Instead of teasing you or making a jab, Meagan simply hums and returns to her meal, albeit at a less enthusiastic pace than before. Her eyes remain narrowed as the inner cogs of her mind turn away. You’ve only known this woman for half an hour at best, so it’s impossible to make any real assumptions. She seems...bothered, somehow? Irritated, perhaps? Or is that just her natural resting face?

Suddenly, the tension leaks away, replaced by calm intrigue, “So...don’t keep me in suspense. What’d you do with your fancy diploma?”

“I studied for six years and got my masters in marine biology.” you turn back towards Meagan as you continue, “you know Empire Industries?”

She snorts around a large bite, swallowing as she nods, “Who doesn’t? They’re everywhere at this point.”

You’re unsure whether to take her bland tone as distasteful or impartial, but you continue regardless, spurred on at the chance to boast about your own interests, even if just a tiny bit, “Yes, well...they hired me into the research department. I work with the engineers on technology, guide the staff as they work on projects, caring for the animals in and out of the lab-”

“What kind of animals?” Meagan asks without looking up, seemingly engrossed with her lunch (which is thankfully almost gone).

“Fish, sharks, even coral- all sorts of creatures.” you smile wistfully, mind filling up with memories of all the scaly friends you’ve met so far...especially…

“and recently...” you sigh, the guilt you’ve been avoiding returning at the thought of him.

“yeah?” Meagan asks, her attention now completely on you. It makes you hesitate, the words stuck to the roof of your mouth.

_ ‘Oh, just the Merman in my secret basement laboratory that I severely pissed off just hours ago by implying we should engage in some sort of invasive and inappropriate ritual, nothing special.’ _

_ “Whales,” _ you blurt instead- because that answer is significantly less crazy and also not a lie- “we’ve been seeing more and more whales recently. The new laws keep them safe from hunting, but there are still poachers and other problems that come up.”

“Oh yeah,” she nods, tapping her fingers against the wooden picnic table in a clean rhythm, “they’ve been beaching themselves, right? ‘Saw it on the news.”

“Unfortunately,” you sigh, “we don’t know why yet, but we are working on it as fast as we can.”

You leave out the mysterious, black rashes. Meagan Foster has been kind to you so far today, however she is still a stranger, and without a proper statement Empire Industries could be in trouble, should such a disease become public knowledge. You just don’t know enough about it yet, and quite honestly you’d rather not think about work right now.

Suddenly, Meagan stands up, offering you a quick nod before stepping away, “Come on, let’s get you back to your friend.”

You hadn’t even noticed she finished her food. Meagan takes her trash and dumps it unceremoniously into the nearby bin. She sends you an impatient look, and quickly you jump to follow behind. It’s only a few more minutes of walking before you start to recognize a few of the surrounding booths. You haven’t realized until it was too late just how expansive this entire place is, although next time you’ll be sure to be more careful.

“So,” Meagan starts casually, “do you know Emily Kaldwin at all?”

Immediately, you tense under her gaze- however nonchalant as it may be. You’ve lived alongside Emily long enough to recognize that tone in other’s voices, and you hear it in Meagan’s now.  _ Opportunistic.  _ You’re used to being used as a pawn to get to the elusive ever-busy CEO, so naturally you have a certain distaste for business talk. Despite this, however, Meagan seems nothing more than one of the common folk. She isn’t dressed like your average businessman and she carries herself confidently, yet without the air of nobility. She mentioned she sailed on her ship, trading goods herself, so perhaps she wants something from Emily. Employment perhaps? The company does offer partnerships with smaller, local businesses. Paying them for sea trips and information, much like freelance.

“Why do you ask?”

Despite the smallness of your voice, Meagan turns to look at you, with mixed feelings of irritation and caution swimming behind her eyes, “You work for Empire here in Dunwall, right? That’s their headquarters down on the river.” There’s a pause and she sighs, hardened gaze softening as she seems to take in your uncomfortable posture, “Just curious, sorry. You must get asked that a lot. The Kaldwins are kinda big in the Isles- especially Gristol.”

_ ‘She was just trying to start a conversation, you overthinking idiot, and it’s not like you ever mentioned Emily Kaldwin happens to be your missing friend of the day,’  _ you scold yourself internally,  _ ‘all Meagan is trying to do is be polite,’  _ You can’t help but assume the worst in people sometimes...it’s how you were originally raised after all, and habits are the hardest to break.

Meagan seems genuinely bothered by how distant you’ve become all of the sudden. She raises a hand to scratch at her neck, expression turning guilty, “Lighten up, kid, I didn’t mean to pry- I just-“

“I know her, yeah,” Meagan blinks at you, a curious brow raised and you quickly wave your hands, as if physically dispelling the tension from the air, “Sorry, it’s just...usually when people ask me about my  _ boss  _ I get a little defensive. Also...work has been stressful, so today was supposed to be a break from it all.”

Meagan actually snorts, a choked laugh leaving her lips as she smacks you on the back, “I didn’t wanna say anything, but yeah- you’re obviously wound pretty tight.”

You make to sputter back a reply, embarrassment dusting your cheeks a soft pink, but she interrupts you, “you’re too young for wrinkles, kid. Relax,”

_ ‘There she goes with the kid thing again.’ _

You roll your eyes, finding your gaze drawn instead around to the booths beside you. There’s more and more stalls related to homemade crafts, so you must be headed in the right direction. If you can just get back to where you were before maybe you can find Emily, or in the very least Samuel and call her with his phone. You still can’t believe you forgot yours at home...how irresponsible of you! It’s not like you to leave out such details...

Although, you  _ have  _ been distracted. You just wish there was something you could do to remedy your fight with the Siren. You can’t help it- it’s all you can think about! Why you care so much about his opinion is beyond you. Perhaps you feel the need to make him as comfortable as possible- like a guest. Or maybe it’s the nature of his imprisonment that drives you to work harder, free him faster. Maybe you’ve just always been a suckup. Always needing other’s good favor, because if someone doesn’t like you then it gets under your skin.

_ ‘Am I really that selfish?’  _ You wonder, anxiety and guilt mixing like a murky pool inside you,  _ ‘he’s a prisoner, and all I’ll done is try to be in his good graces for...what? Science?’ _

No. You  _ will  _ remedy the situation and not for the sake of your ego but because he’s a living, breathing person. Maybe it’s not too late to be friends, if not amicable strangers. But how to tell him this- that’s the problem. He doesn’t seem to speak english; maybe in the very least he’s picked up a few words, but even so you’ve both been communicating with vague  _ gestures- _

_ Wait… _

“So, that was some crazy storm last spring, wasn’t it?” Meagan’s curious voice barely registers in your mind. An echo that you nod along to but don’t really tune in on. “Does Empire know anything about-“

_ A  _ **_gesture_ ** _. That’s it! _

As soon as you have your little epiphany, a single stand catches your eye. The perfect solution.

“Sorry, Meagan,” you start, a reassuring smile on your face, “do you mind if we make a quick stop here? I want to pick something up for a friend.”

You’re already starting to stray from her path, feet guiding you towards the closest stall. Meagan turns to narrow her eyes at you, mouth opening as if to say something, but nothing comes out. She shakes her head, arms crossing almost disappointedly and she gives you the silent go-ahead.

You hurry and gloss over the jewelry on display. Like most everything else at the Antiques Market, all the items appear to be handmade. There’s necklaces, rings, earrings- all sorts of accessories, but there’s one you think you already love.

The shopkeeper rounds the other side of the desk, smiling kindly at you, “Good afternoon,”

“Ah, hello,” you nod back politely, “how much for this one?”

“A good eye on ‘ya!” He chuckles, a large hand coming up to rub at the stubble lining his chin and cheeks, “300 coin,”

“Deal.”

He grins and starts unhooking the object of your attention, placing it into a paper bag, cushioned with more soft material. You’re too distracted, mind running at a mile a minute over your plans, only to be startled when Meagan Foster peeks over your shoulder.

Her eyes are narrowed, impatiently, “Didn’t take you for the jewelry type,”

“It’s not for me. A friend...from work,” you supply, ignoring the hard look she sends you.

As the man hands you the carefully wrapped bag, you take it and thank him again, turning and meeting Meagan with a bright smile.

“Sorry, I’m ready now.”

…

Meagan doesn’t push the subject of your last minute purchase. If anything she seems to retreat back into her own headspace for the duration of your walk together. You’d think maybe she was just lost in thought, but there’s too much awareness in her gaze. Flitting about and looking this way and that. Could she be looking for someone, too? She wasn’t carrying anything with her either, despite being a supposed trader of goods. You hope you haven’t completely ruined her day by distracting her like this. You actually hoped you were starting to become more friendly with one another. Who knows, it’s a small world, after all. You could always run into each other again.

Then, you hear them. The soft metal chimes that enchanted you an hour or so ago. A collection of songs, all different yet combining in their own perfect harmony.

You smile towards Meagan, finding her looking toward the same spot, “This is where I lost sight of my friend, she should be around here…”

Meagan simply nods, standing quietly as you walk forward through the crowd. You clutch your bag tighter to yourself, anxious to find Emily. It also occurs to you that while you spoke briefly of her with Meagan, she doesn’t know that Emily Kaldwin herself is your lost friend. She seemed interested in some kind of partnership before- perhaps it would be a nice surprise!

Thankfully, you don't have to look any farther than a few steps. Someone calls your name over the bustle of the crowd and quickly your eyes meet with Emily’s between moving groups of bodies. A feeling of relief overflows within you upon seeing your most trusted friend.

Then  _ immediately  _ you’re filled with a sort of dread, given how  _ pissed off  _ she looks.

She hisses your name as soon as your within comfortable earshot, “-where in the Void have you been? You ditched me for an  _ hour _ , what happened?”

As she looks you over for anything out of place you open your mouth to reassure her and probably apologize- unfortunately for you, Emily is too stubborn to even allow you room to breathe.

“What if someone tried to mug you, or harass you, or- by the Sirens-  _ kidnap _ you!” She reaches out, holding you at elbow’s length as her golden eyes dig into your own. Filled with annoyance and frustration but also  _ fear _ .

“Emily-“

“You’re smarter than that- running off in the middle of such a big crowd, but damn the Void, you don't know any self defense! What if-?!”

_ “Emily please,” _ you press, hands rising to rest gently on her own. Her knuckles are clenched tightly, nearly white, onto the fabric of your sweater’s sleeves. Immediately, they loosen under your gentle, contrasting touch.

“I’m so sorry, Em,” you start, too absorbed in calming Emily down to be bothered by the curious looks you get. “really I didn’t mean to get lost, I was just trying to give you time before. To talk to that man.”

Perhaps most other people would be irritated or annoyed in your position, but genuine acts have always meant the most to you. Certainly right now the emotions in Emily’s eyes are raw and true. It reminds you of her mother, or rather- in this situation to fit the relationship you two have- an overprotective, older sister. You didn’t have much of anything for a long time in your life. So, to see her be this worked up and care that much- well, it means more than can be put into words on a page. Maybe that’s a little selfish of you, but at least you’ll admit it.

Even after spending almost 16 years together, it never ceases to surprise you; her consideration.

At your words, Emily’s expression mixes both relief and disbelief at once, “You got lost? Why didn't you just stay in one spot, it wouldn’t have taken more than a half hour.”

You can’t help but deadpan at her comment. A half hour is a  _ long  _ time for someone to stand still in a place like this. She knows you don’t like crowds.

“Besides,” she adds in a  _ slightly _ more relaxed voice, “you are my newly appointed Director of Marine Research. When a sudden business opportunity shows itself, I expect you to act professionally.”

You roll your eyes, nodding along, “Yes, Miss President,”

“Don’t mock me-“ she warns, but there’s no real bite to her words, “just stay by my side next time. You won’t even have to speak,” she scoffs, adding in a quieter voice more to herself than anything,  _ “Spirits,  _ I can’t believe you got lost.”

“I  _ was  _ lost,” you jump to defend, “but I met someone really nice- she showed me the way back here…” You turn with a smile, but no one is there to mirror it back.

Meagan Foster is gone without a trace. Looking around you can’t even catch a glimpse of her white coat. It’s a little disappointing, actually. You hadn’t gotten the chance to properly thank her or introduce her to Emily.

“Well, she  _ was  _ just here,” you drone off, but are pulled back, quite literally, as Emily grasps your hand.

“You’re lucky they didn’t take advantage of you,” she sighs, pulling you along gently, yet firmly, “now come on, let’s go before I lose sight of you again.”

“Of course,  _ your majesty,”  _ you reply with a flourish and bow of the head. Emily scoffs but when you lift your gaze again, you find her smile is as broad as your own.

“You know what? That one wasn’t that bad. Certainly has a better ring to it than  _ Miss President.” _

“Who was that man anyway? From before,” You finally ask as you both emerge from the crowd, heading towards the entrance. Your poor, exhausted heart finally catching up with you now that it was much quieter. Less people around to potentially set you off.

Emily thinks on your question until realization seems to hit her, “Hm? Oh, he’s the owner of a technological firm in Morley. Marine-focused, much like us, but smaller.”

Funny, you think distractedly, that man didn’t look Morley-born. The dark, black hair with its midnight blue hue reminded you of some of your peers who hailed from Tyvia. Sharp jawlines and light colored eyes. Although you suppose he doesn’t have to be from Morley to live and conduct business there.

“Two CEO’s stumble into each other in one of the biggest, busiest places in the Isles…”

She nods, seeming to understand your silent query, “Yes, very coincidental indeed. His company, the _Crane Corporation_ , has been bothering me for a while now. Wanting to set up some sort of acquaintanceship. He must’ve finally come to ask in person.”

“Right...” you trail off, both looking up to find Samuel parking along the road. Right on time, as per usual.

“...A small world, it is.”

…

That night, after explaining yourself a second time over dinner to not one over-protective family member but  _ two  _ (Corvo could be  _ intimidating _ when he truly desired), you made one last stop before laying down for some most needed sleep.

With your gift clutched in your hand, you use the other to open the laboratory door. It creaks in protest as it always does, but swings open regardless. It’s quiet and the tank is seemingly empty.

_ ‘Back to ignoring me, I see,’  _ you think bitterly. Hopefully this would be remedied soon, assuming he accepted your gift.

With that thought in mind, you creep closer to the tank. This is the first time you’ve been down here in about 24 hours, and the only thing out of place is the fish bucket you leave by the ladder. Corvo must have made good on his promise to feed the Siren for you, just as you asked. However, you also see the very same fish pooled together and left in a small pile on the sandy floor inside. Corvo must have thrown it over the top, given he could never walk closer than that, but even so the fish remain untouched. The revelation makes your heart sink.

The room is cold, as it usually is, but right now it feels even colder. Perhaps you’ve been spoiled by the summer heat today and you’re unused to the chilly lab, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. An involuntary shiver runs through you in response.

You know he’s watching you, better not keep him waiting.

Slowly, you approach the yellow tape line, hands grasped in front of you. With utmost care you muster a smile and gaze into the enormous tank.

“I’m really sorry about yesterday,” you start, despite having no idea whether or not he’s truly listening or if he even understands. You just hope he’s empathetic enough to hear how sad you are. “I feel awful. I shouldn’t have asked you that…whatever  _ that  _ was…”

Really, you don’t even know what you asked him for, but whatever the ritual had symbolised deeply disgusted him. Enough to make the normally calm and quiet Siren turn with a furious, static ripple.

“I found this today while out shopping…” you look down at the perimeter tape, only a few centimeters away from the toes of your boots. Such a small gap, yet it feels much more like a mile long leap. Taking a breath, you lift your gaze along with your hands.

Finally, you reveal the bracelet you bought from the jewelry stand. The band is made of leather, crisscrossed with strong, black threads in a diamond pattern. On the front is a metal piece which holds inside it a rounded stone of jade. It’s nothing flashy, but the subtlety of the band combined with the careful stitches- all building towards the jade gemstone- it certainly caught your attention. You just hope it catches his as well. The color of the green jewel reminded you of his tail, afterall. A tiny, extra detail you hope might amuse him as much as it did for you.

You’re by no means a material person, but since you can’t communicate through words maybe you can communicate through a  _ gesture _ . After all you’ve gotten along so far with simple body language like nodding, pointing, or smiling. Worst case scenario, he hates it and you’re out a few coins.

“I thought you might like it,” you venture, taking a tiny step towards the ladder.

There’s the low hum of static against your skin, but no shrieking or ear-piercing shout. A good sign that he doesn’t  _ completely  _ hate you. Just to be safe though, you get close enough to raise your arm and arch the bracelet over the top and into the water with a small  _ splash! _

“I’m not the best with people,” you admit, stepping back and watching the peace offering as it sinks to the sand below, “so I apologize if there was any misunderstanding between us. I want you to be free- really I do.” The jade stone glints as the band hits the tank's rocky floor. Swaying slightly in the underwater breeze. You sigh, long and tired.

“Unfortunately, you’ll have to be a  _ little  _ more patient with me in the meantime,”

You bow your head slightly, smiling as you move to turn and leave, “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Sleep well…”

You can’t help but watch for a moment out of the corner of your eye, but nothing happens. A part of you is disappointed, but the fact that he didn’t outright attack you is also comforting.

You suppose you’ll just have to come back tomorrow to find out.

  
  
  


…

  
  
  


After the laboratory door shuts and all the locks have closed tight…

The bracelet shifts, and then disappears in a cloud of black shards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been developing my outline for this story as the weeks go by and I'm up to 30+ now! It's both incredibly exciting and also daunting- because then I remember I'm the one who has to write it- but it will be done and whenever the process gets slow I just motivate myself with certain future scenes...kinda like a carrot on a stick type of situation~ 🌹 Someone has to write the found-family and hurt/comfort tropes for these characters and by god it will be me!!!
> 
> But enough of my rambling, we've reached the end of the Antiques Market! It wasn't as much of a day off as our Reader or Emily would have liked...but at least it was interesting!
> 
> I hope you're enjoying Iridescence so far! 💕 As always I'll see you next week~


	10. Forgiveness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to give a quick shoutout to you dear readers <3 The feedback I've gotten so far for this story has been so incredibly amazing- I adore this fandom and I want to continue to make dishonored content even after this series is done. You're awesome and I really appreciate the kind words / kudos ! :)

_\- Back from the Antiques Market, the weight of your job returns in full. You have plenty of work ahead of you if you want to help the sick whales, but you can’t do it alone. The Siren must know something...if only you could ask him. -_

“So, how are you feeling?” Emily asks out of the blue three days after your trip to the Antiques Market.

Ever since the little  _ incident _ , you’ve hardly had a chance to sit alone to yourself. You’ve either been at work with the assistants and the whales, or at home being watched over by Corvo and Emily- as if you’re a child. They’ve even made excuses to follow you into the hidden laboratory (a space that had become somewhat of a remote office for all your research both worldly and not so). Suffice to say, it’s getting on your nerves. So they’ll have to excuse you if you’re a little irritable.

“About you breathing down my neck?” you grumble in response. Okay, maybe just a tiny bit  _ more  _ than a little irritable.

Emily makes a noise of exasperation, somewhere between a scoff and a sigh. She lowers her laptop screen so she can peer over her desk at you better, “I  _ meant  _ about everything else. Your  _ job  _ for one thing-“ she rolls her eyes and reaches for her morning tea, stirring the contents idly as she lectures you, “-and we aren’t breathing down your neck.”

It’s a childish thing to be frustrated over, but you haven't been sleeping well lately and your guard is down, so you bristle under her gaze defensively, “you just said  _ we _ \- so you admit it?”

“You worried me sick,” she retaliates with a glare meant to silence you, “a grown adult getting lost is one thing, but with everything going on with the storm and the sick whales and-“ Emily waves a hand as if physically stirring away the thoughts that have settled around her head, “our  _ surprise _ guest of honor...we have more unseen enemies than ever right now and I thought maybe you had been-“ Emily hesitates, brows furrowed as her angry mask fractures. A quick cover up as she settles into a neutral facade but you saw it clear as day. Guilt ebbs away at your frustration until you're feeling tired and defeated all over again. That look in her eyes stirs up old memories from the later-years of your childhood.

Two little kids standing side by side at a grand funeral. Crowds of distant relatives, business partners, and staff members alike sharing stale words of comfort. Neither of you had listened. Instead, you simply stood in each other's silent company, hands clasped and shoulders brushing. More had been shared between you in silence that day than anyone on the outside could ever put into words.

You won’t let that happen to you, too. You won’t leave them both.

“Emily,” you sigh, reaching a hand over the table and gently grasping her own when she doesn’t pull away, “I’m sorry, you’re right,”

There’s a moment of quiet. Emily’s hardened gaze softens bit by bit until she’s left looking as tired as you are. She smirks then, shaking her head as she quips, “Did you just admit I’m  _ right,  _ for a change? Me?”

You let out a scoff, sitting up straighter, “You say that as if I’m some snob without a brain for anyone but myself.”

“The Academy of Natural Philosophy does that to people,” your adoptive sister grins, looking idly anywhere but into your eyes, “just look at Sokolov. He’s great, sure, but the size of that man’s ego…”

You can’t help but laugh at the admission, hands returning to hold your coffee mug. Anton Sokolov was- rather still is- one of the most renowned minds in the Isles, originating from the Academy himself before becoming the headmaster for a time. To speak ill of him within the college’s halls is nothing short of  _ philosophical blasphemy. _ Hearing Emily Kaldwin speak the words you had often thought to yourself outloud sends you shaking with childish giggles.

“You- you have no  _ idea!” _ You manage, rolling your eyes, “I appreciate the man’s achievement and intellect like anyone else, but being one of his assistants-“ you shake your head, still grinning, “-doesn’t matter if you’re a freshman or a recently graduated PHD, Sokolov will still put you down in favor of his own ideas.”

“How haughty of you,” Emily replies, “admitting to being a teacher’s pet,”

“Sokolov doesn’t have teacher’s pets,” you respond blandly, “more like over-glorified confidence boosts.”

You both settle into silence for a time after that, a much more comfortable one. Her office is one of your favorites in the headquarters, with a wide open space, huge elaborate desk, personal library, and tall window to let in all the natural light. You also have an office in the building for yourself, just one floor down from this one, but you don’t use it much. Everyone in the research department knows you spend the majority of your time with the animals in rehab or hands on with the other staff. You keep official documents and notes locked up in your office, but the window needs to be replaced, the floors are creaky from age and lack of use, and it just feels...stagnant to you. Uncomfortably official. Also, you’ve never liked working in a place knowing anyone could interrupt you at any time. You prefer to work consistently and in private. If you must be in an office, you at least like to work alongside Emily. She hasn’t sent you away yet, so you have a feeling she shares a similar mindset.

Speaking of…

“But it’s good- my work, I mean,” you bring the topic up again, adding on from Emily’s initially confused expression, “Sometimes things can be a little rocky with the interns but we’ve made so much progress and I’m actually taking to the leadership role well!”

“The interns?” She lifts a brow and you immediately push it off with a smile.

“Oh, it’s really nothing,” you dismiss and take a sip of your sugary coffee, “simple miscommunications and such- they are interns after all- not graduates for another year.”

The way that Emily says your name- drawn out and suspicious- causes you to curl further around the comforting mug in your grasp.

“...have they been listening? Surely, their tasks aren’t so complicated as to cause you trouble.” She narrows her eyes at you, “They’re around our age, only a year or so behind you,”

Watching her look through you, you can see Emily’s gears turning. You know it’s only a matter of time before she puts her own theories together and acts accordingly- which is something you do not want. If Emily assumed the worst and took the intern’s blatant disrespect as anything more than arrogance, she may take action, and the last thing you need is more of your staff assuming you can’t handle such petty things yourself. It looked bad enough at first glance- you, a recent graduate and barely-but-not-yet 24 year old- being handed such a highly prized role in a vastly wealthy and prominent company in the Isles like it’s  _ nothing.  _ All because you happen to be childhood friends with said-company’s owner. You still have to prove to them that despite your age and circumstance you deserve the title of Head Director. Having Emily step in over something as silly as a disagreement between coworkers would seem like a cop-out.

Yes, you will admit that you aren’t always vocal and you have an extensive history of being treated like a rug- or, if you asked your blood-mother, a prized antique to be kept inside a gilded cage- you’d be foolish to ignore how far you’ve come. Just from graduation day you’ve grown so much. You weren’t lying when you told Emily you’ve been growing into the role of leader well. There  _ is  _ potential in you, you know it. You will meet their expectations and go beyond them. You  _ have _ to.

“I was an intern once Emily,” you speak up over your drink, keeping as casual a tone as possible, “and trust me when I say, it’s normal for interns to avoid any work they can. It’s a lack of experience- rather, they don’t share the same loyalties as we do, being full-time cogs.”

Thankfully, Emily smiles and seems to drop the subject somewhat, leaning back in her seat to open her laptop once again. “Well,” she sighs, “it’s not like they’re getting paid much, either,”

_ “Precisely,”  _ you press, gently, “minimum wage doesn’t set the bar higher than one’s ankles.”

“You get what you pay for,” Emily translates, already typing away at her numerous emails for the day. You nod, returning to your own work of reading over various files from records.

You’ll be visiting the whales in rehab again tomorrow, and you’re feeling rather uneasy about it. On one hand whales are among your favorite animals, so working with them and helping them get back on their feet (or technically fins) is a dream come true for you. On the other hand, however, there  _ still  _ hasn’t been much progress in identifying and treating the strange, black rashes. With every passing day the poor whale in your care continues to moan in pain, suspended in the lab as it’s subjected to test after test. Harmless tests, mind you- the world has come a long way since the days of whale oil dependency- but tests all the same. So far, you’ve forbidden the staff from touching the rash directly, or getting too close. There had been a minor incident early on when one of the scientists scrapped off some samples from the inflicted skin. The blunt tool they had used (one designed much like a swab in form and function) was left in the lab overnight and the next day it had turned completely black.  _ Covered  _ in the same inky blackness as the wound on the whale it came from. Thankfully the scientist never came in contact with it himself but obviously you all learned just how volatile the substance is. You made a harsh rule after that:  _ no touching _ . The last thing you need is to waste more time and resources. Instead, at the cost of more friction between you and your coworkers, you have them strictly  _ watching  _ the disease, with treatment through shots and diet supplements.

_ ‘A temporary fix’ _ is what your colleague, Dr. Hargreaves, had called it. As much as it irks you, you know he has a point. There is only so much you can do and learn before needing to go hands-on. You suppose you’re just hoping for some kind of breakthrough before such measures must be made.

You’re also hoping for progress between you and the Siren. After all he might know something about the black rashes, but you’ve barely seen much of him yet and none at all since you offended him days ago. Your gifted bracelet did disappear however. That you noticed when you came to feed him the next morning.

As you finish up digitizing your official notes for Empire’s records, you spare a glance up at Emily. Her eyes are narrowed at whatever she’s reading on her screen, expression serious and intently focused. How does someone make something as simple as reading appear so confident?

A part of you wants to ask her opinion again about the Siren. Yet there’s two main reasons you don’t feel comfortable bringing him up again. For one, Emily, Corvo and yourself made a strict rule very early on: no speaking of the Siren outside of the manor or within potential earshot of passerby- that includes the housekeeping staff. Secondly, you already have a feeling of what Emily would say- assuming she doesn’t cut you off for the sake of rule number 1.

_ “You’re being ridiculous,”  _ being the first idea or,  _ “You’re too kind, you need to harden up and get the answers we need”. _

You know for a fact that Corvo doesn’t like the Siren much. You don’t exactly blame him either. The Siren has given him nothing but trouble since they first found him and, from how Corvo describes their interactions, the Siren seems to almost be  _ toying  _ with him. Ignoring the man when he comes into the lab and personally ignoring the fish given to him. While the Siren no longer gives you a headache when you are near, he will bother Corvo- even when he’s not within the space marked by yellow tape. Either the Siren really doesn’t like him, or Corvo is just frustrated and exaggerating.

Emily, however, doesn’t seem to feel any particular way about the Siren. You chalk this up to her never having much interaction with him at all. You wonder if she’s even seen him before or if he’s always been invisible.

The point is, you don’t feel like much will be accomplished by asking Emily for advice. You earned his trust before, who’s to say you can’t do it again? Besides this is your task, entrusted to you by two of the most important people in your life. It’s plenty of stress on their shoulders already, and you feel like it’s your time to pick up the slack. You don’t want them to think you can’t handle this.

“I’ll see you at dinner tonight,” you nod after spending another comfortable hour in silence. Emily hums, watching you pack up to leave as she spares a look toward her digital clock. The red digits read  _ 5:36.  _ Almost quitting time.

“Text me when your leaving,” she calls as you turn to leave, “I’ll have Samuel drive us both home,”

You lift a brow and she groans, rolling her eyes, “Can I not enjoy some quality time with my sibling? You were gone for  _ six years _ at the academy,”

“I came back all the time for breaks,” you reply, unable to keep the amused smirk from rising on your face.

Emily sits back in her chair, hands folded as she regards you with a similarly matched amount of mischief, “Right I’m the overprotective sister I understand,” she rolls her eyes, “you want a ride home or not?”

You chuckle, “I don’t think you’ll take no for an answer…”

“Not if you’re planning on spending another all-nighter in the lab,” Emily mutters seriously.

You scratch the back of your neck with a casual hand, turning towards the door, “N-no absolutely not...I’m just going to check on my notes and then leave...at an  _ acceptable _ time,”

Emily breaks her serious facade to smile, “Seven?”

“Seven sounds great.” You sigh.

…

A trip from the executive offices down and over to the rehabilitation lab is about 10 minutes. A little less if you walk faster, but for once you slow down and allow your mind to wander at the same time. After all, most of the staff are gone for the day or holed up in their offices finishing paperwork.

You’re a little embarrassed to admit, but you’ve been thinking about the Siren all day. Does he like the bracelet? Does he understand your intent to apologize and reconcile? What if he never shows himself again? What would you even do? Find a magic spell and force him to turn him visible? You scoff under your breath at the thought.

_ Magic _ . A previously impossible concept now made tangible over the course of a few weeks. Now that you’ve met a Siren yourself, anything seems within reach. There’s so much that you want to learn from him, not as a scientist but as a friend. 

You want to know more about him. His family and friends, his favorite sea creatures, how he maintains those beautiful jade green scales, always iridescent in the right light. Casting rays of light and color when you look close enough-

“D-director!”

You jump at the nervous voice before you, head snapping up from your shoes to meet the wide eyes of a young man. Only a year or two younger than you, anxious expression, the uniform- you recognize him finally as an intern. George, if you’ll remember correctly.

You smile politely, “Ah, hello George.”

The intern nods, eyes darting to your feet and around the hall, almost sporadically, “I was just…” he visibly swallows, appearing to try and collect himself. “I was just meeting with Dr. Gallahan. Catching me up on everything that I’ve missed,”

Ah, that’s right. You met George along with the other two interns under your care, Irene and Micha, on your first day in office. He had been the quiet one, taking notes diligently and paying extra attention. Probably the only one to show you genuine respect thus far. However, you were a little disheartened to hear he hadn’t been coming into work. This is the first you’ve seen of him in at least a week and a half.

With these thoughts in mind, you address him once more, tilting your head slightly as you ask, “Will you be learning from my personal research team again?”

“Yes...” he trails, still unable to look back into your eyes for long.

There’s an awkward pause, lingering as George leans on his heels, fidgeting uncomfortably. Just as you clear your throat to excuse yourself, he speaks up. He looks you in the eyes and stays there, although his voice is still meek as he stutters, “Director, I have to tell you something. It’s very important…”

You nod, watching with as harmless an expression as you can muster despite the strangeness of the conversation. George takes a deep breath, the exhale coming out shakily.

“On that day...I-“

But then he stops. Freezes in place. His eyes widen a fraction as he focuses on something almost behind you. You can’t be sure, however, as his gaze has gone back to flitting around the corridor.

“George?” You prompt, gently.

“I...I saw Irene on my way back from the rehabilitation lab,” he says, “she was talking to two other interns- both from other departments- she...they were saying some mean things.  _ Awful _ things.”

You narrow your eyes down at him, and he flinches- probably taking your worried expression for something more irate.

“About you,”

You blink, surprised.

“About me?”

George nods, gloved hands stuffed in the pockets of his white lab coat, “Irene always seems to have it out for  _ someone _ ...I just thought I’d let you know, in case she transfers to another team or...drops out of the program...that’s probably why.”

You nod along as he trails off. Humming, you tilt your head enough to get his attention, smiling as you reassure him, “Thank you for telling me, George, but Irene doesn’t scare me. I’ll make sure she doesn’t cause any trouble,”

George spares you a timid smile, “Right…I’ll see you tomorrow, Director,” with a polite nod of his head, the young intern passes around you and continues toward the main building.

You stare after his retreating form, finding nothing in the empty hallway behind you.

…

After a normal night of dinner with Emily and Corvo, you make your way down to the vault. You’ve changed clothes from your usual Empire uniform into a baggy sweatshirt and pair of work-out shorts. You only intended on checking in and making sure the Siren had plenty of food. However, to your surprise and elation, you find his dinner gone. The only evidence it had been eaten are the fishbones left to sit on the sandy floor. You make a mental note to break out the cleaning net and scoop it from the tank sometime tomorrow. It’s a job you dread, given how you feel about swimming (or lack thereof), but one that must be done eventually. The filters are state-of-the-art technology, able to keep the tank clean for weeks at a time even at this size, however things like bone and rock would have to be removed by hand.

Most of all, you’re just happy to see he’s eating again. You’ve been afraid of seeing him grow any thinner than he was, and after your altercation you thought you had lost his trust for good.

You smile absentmindedly towards the tank, nodding as you walk over to add this revelation to your personal notes. Just as your pen begins to scribble along the notebook, however, you find yourself distracted by a noise. There’s a gush of water that ruffles the seaweed and underwater foliage.

You spare a tiny peek, and catch the telltale signs of life within the tank. Black crystals, dark enough to be mistaken for shadows- tricks of the eye- flitter through the water and whirl along a familiar form.

The Siren stares back at you, blank as ever. Not a single bit of frustration or disinterest like you had feared. The only hint that you had offended him at all being the space between him and yourself. A generous space left between you and the glass wall of the tank. That, and his tail, which curls around himself.

You can’t help but smile when you see him, a barely contained grin of relief. He’s here- well, he’s  _ always  _ been here, but he became visible for you! So many words lie unsaid on your tongue, burning in your throat, but you keep it back. You don’t want to go and become a nervous wreck when he finally decided to show himself again.

“Hey,” you wave, unmoving from your spot, as if any movement would send him swimming away once more.

The Siren nods in greeting, his arms crossed silently. It’s only when you notice this do you catch sight of a band around his wrist. It only takes a moment for the familiarity of the bracelet to register in your brain. Brown leather accented with crisscrossing threaded patterns. A metal piece in the middle, shined to perfection. The centerpiece, a rounded jade stone.

“You kept my gift,” you mutter, and the Siren blinks, tilting his head just so.

“The bracelet,” you prod, lifting your own wrist to mirror his own. You’re sure there’s still a silly smile on your face, and you can feel it grow when the merman lifts his own wrist, black eyes softening ever so slightly. But then they’re hard again, and his defensive demeanor slips back into place. Although, you notice he now plays with the material, twisting it beneath idle, webbed hands.

You dare to step closer, however slowly and cautiously, “I’m glad you like it,”

There’s a pause occupied only by the bubbling of the tank and the rampant thoughts in your own head- ready to burst.

“I’m so sorry,” you blurt, bowing your head slightly. When you lift it again, you find the Siren narrowing his eyes at you. You really wish you could speak the same language right now. Surely it would save you rambling like an idiot and hoping something sticks.

Then, as if it finally occurs to him, the Siren looks over toward your makeshift reading nook. The blanket and pillow nest right where you left it, along with the accompanying occult books.

“Yes that,” you sigh, pointing towards the pile.

One corner of the Siren’s mouth lifts in distaste, his posture going even more rigid- if that’s possible. Immediately you move to it and push the books away, holding up your hands in (what you hope is) the universal sign of surrender.

He regards you again with intense curiosity, before clicking his tongue and nodding. There’s a brief moment of quiet before he begins to try and speak, muffled words echoing with a strange, otherworldly hiss. You’ve heard his speaking voice only once before in passing, but now you get to hear it in full. His tone is slightly higher than you had expected. Yet still mature and confident. Almost stoic.

Obviously, you understand none of the clicks and sound-based consonants, but you listen to every word regardless. After he’s finished speaking, his black eyes return to you, waiting and no doubt looking mystified. The Siren smirks at your reaction, something like amusement twisting his features. The reaction is enough to make you flustered without even fully knowing why.

The words he had spoken in his own language didn’t seem to hold any sort of malice, but it seems your reaction still interested him. He could have been poking fun at you or saying something off-handedly crude, yet here you are gaping at him like an excited child learning something new.

You huff, turning away to return to your notes (as well as hide your reddened face). You don’t even write down words at first, content to scribble away in the margins until you're certain you’ve recovered your composure.

In your peripheral, you can feel the Siren’s endlessly black gaze watching you. Eventually though, he does move away, swimming around and returning to a more relaxed position near the front. Much closer than before. You can’t help but smile at the fact.

You pick up your notes and return to the accompanying reading pile, content to sit and write alongside him as you share a comforting silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have /no/ idea how badly I just wanna tease and hint at the big things to come...I've been going through my outline and notes for future updates and damn I really hope you enjoy the twists as much as I will because this story is going to get /twisted/ 👀
> 
> But as per usual, I hope you enjoy!💕 There's more to come next week...as the stress comes to a head, and things begin to escalate...


	11. Escalating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah these chapters are definitely getting longer lol...not that you're all complaining, I'm sure 😉
> 
> Also, I couldn't help myself so there's a brief moment of spice thrown in this chapter~ As a treat! A little taste of the romance elements that'll come into the later-end of this series.

_ \- Just as one problem is solved yet another one arises. More and more whales are turning up sick and injured on the beaches with no answer as to why. Empire Industries can only keep up for so long...and the strain is showing on some people more than others. - _

The inner locks of the vault door click and creak open beneath your fingertips. Juggling your breakfast on one plate while making your way inside with the other is difficult but somehow you manage. As it shuts securely behind you, you immediately look into the tank. On instinct, you find yourself searching for the jade-colored scales you’ve come to admire.

You pad over to your sitting area, coffee and breakfast in hand, “Good morning,” you greet the empty tank, knowing and feeling his invisible gaze on your back.

Sure enough, there’s a wisp of black and the Siren’s form appears behind a rock. His expression retains it’s usual stoicism, but the telltale flick on his tail tells you enough. That, and the impatient way he swims up to greet you. Normally, the Siren is content to sit and watch, but this morning he opens his mouth and speaks. As per usual, his native language is muffled by the water, but the sharp syllables still reach your ears. It’s a familiar string of words you’ve come to recognize as a greeting. He hasn’t spoken much at all since his arrival, and you still find yourself surprised every time he speaks. When he does, he always seems so  _ composed _ .

If there’s anything mutual between you both it’s your common fascination with each other. Like now, for instance, as you set down your plate at the lab table the Siren watches you with interest. You try to be polite as much as you can, sipping coffee from your mug and moving to grab your laptop from across the table. Even as you set into work, however, his staring persists. Had he always been watching you so intensely? Even when he spent those first weeks invisible? Well, he doesn’t seem shy to the fact. Even when you turn and return his gaze, he doesn’t flinch or look away.

There’s a strange, unspoken thing that passes between you.

You should feel creeped out, maybe annoyed, however you just can’t bring yourself to be. It’s strange how  _ familiar  _ his gaze is. Although, not in the ‘I’ve seen you before’ way. You’re sure you would’ve remembered seeing someone with pitch black eyes. No, it’s just  _ familiar.  _ You don’t know how else to describe it. The way that your eyes meet his. Like you’re seeing each other- not just at surface level but deeper than that. Like he’s seeing through you to your core.

You’re so lost in thought that, when he lifts a pale hand, you flinch. Thankfully he doesn’t seem to notice, far too busy tapping at the glass as he points your way. Tilting his head in the way he does when he’s curious, he mouths something. More words from a language you can’t understand. You think he’s asking you something...maybe?

You motion towards yourself, confused, and the Siren shakes his head. Patiently, he points again, this time further down to the right of you. You follow his gaze to your breakfast.

“My food..?” You wonder aloud, lifting the plate gently. The Siren nods in response, expression as neutral as ever, despite a subtle curve to his brow.

This morning’s breakfast had been pancakes, a weekly treat you and Emily can’t help but indulge in. Ever since you were both young, pancakes had been one of the first things you found in common with one another, and subsequently bonded over. You’d experiment with different toppings- both of the savory and sweet varieties- a collection of different flavored syrups- anything your young stomachs could handle. Nowadays, while the tradition of  _ pancake-day _ still stands, you’ve cut back on the sugar in favor of simply one topping and one kind of syrup, if any. Thinking back on the colorful and chaotic ways you’d both decorate your food, you’re sure you wouldn’t have been able to keep it down now. Some butter and maple syrup will be just fine.

You pick up your fork and jab it into one of your cut pieces. Today, the pancakes are extra fluffy and thick, acting almost spongy if not for their syrup-drenched state. You lift it up with a nostalgic smile, “These are  _ pancakes,” _ you explain, adding extra pronunciation to the name. “you mix flour, eggs, buttermilk- a whole bunch of stuff, then fry them on pans.”

The Siren watches you as you speak, unreactive but undeniably curious in the way his whole attention is on you. You still find it a little unnerving, the way his eyes train on you and  _ only _ you- as if you’re the most interesting thing in the world. Perhaps you are, given you’re (quite literally) an entirely different species. You may as well be from a different planet.

“They come out fluffy and sweet!” You smile and place the bite in your mouth to chew.

Immediately you’re met with the sugary sweet flavors of cake and maple. As the taste coats your tongue you hum in satisfaction, hands moving to remove the fork from your mouth and cut out another bite.

When you look up, however, the Siren’s expression has changed.

He’s still visibly intrigued, but his nonchalant posture from before has straightened. Become more rigid, only visible in the tension of his bare shoulders. If you thought his eyes were stuck to you before, it’s now almost as if they’re glued to you at the table. It’s hard to tell exactly, given the pitch black of his eyes, but they seem sharper, more focused. Not tilted towards your food but at your hands, fork, and finally your mouth. A stray smear of syrup is stuck to your lip, and on impulse your tongue swipes over the skin there. There’s a shift in his eyes as he trains the movement.

The silence that follows your hesitant swallow is near deafening in its own way. A tension you're unfamiliar with. Was he always so close to the glass? Any more and his hands would be pressed up against it. Surely he’s seen someone  _ eat  _ before…

He blinks, slowly, meeting your gaze- and for the first time you both seem to communicate with one look.

_ Has he always looked at you like that? _

“Hey-“

You flinch, jumping up and out of your seat like you’ve been caught doing something dirty. Emily stares back at you with wide eyes from the door to the laboratory, her phone in one hand and a company-issued tablet in the other.

“Emily!” You peep, finding your throat suddenly dry up. You clear it and muster as convincing a glare as you can, “you scared me, I was just reading over my notes,”

Emily steps closer as the heavy door locks behind her (and how did you miss that- when it’s just about the loudest door in the Void-forsaken Isles). She snorts, “really? Because you seemed busy looking anywhere else  _ but  _ your notes,” Emily stops by the lab table, peering down at your half-eaten breakfast, “and you haven’t even gotten your notes  _ out  _ yet,”

“Well, I  _ was about to,”  _ you quickly respond, unable to meet her gaze. Instead, you pretend to busy yourself by gathering your physical scribblings from the table drawer and that damned pen...where did you put it? You’re always like this- scatterbrained under pressure, and it certainly doesn’t help that your face must be a vibrant, distracting red.

Emily reaches into her pocket and pulls out a pen for you, placing it in your vision without needing to confirm. You sigh, thanking her. Maybe holding something in your hand will stop your fingertips from shaking.

She hums, stepping away (thankfully having dropped the subject) to gaze into the water herself. You almost don’t dare to peek...but you inevitably do. The Siren has disappeared somewhere in the tank, invisible most likely. You can’t help but sigh in relief. You don’t know what you’d do if he continued to pin you in place with his gaze like that.

What was that look for? When you first met him, he had appraised you with no more coldness than a scientist looking down on their next experiment (how unnervingly ironic when you put it that way). Sure, you’ve both warmed up to each other in the past day or so, and you’d like to think you’ve gotten to know him a little bit- at least enough to recognize certain boundaries and body language. His curiosity has been his most obvious trait, flickering between you and the tools you work with. However, this was the first time he’s ever really looked at  _ you _ . The first time you’ve truly felt uncomfortable alone with him. Not because of  _ him  _ persay, but because of that  _ look.  _ Like...he could see beyond into your head. What you’re thinking and feeling. Behind your carefully crafted mask to the insecurities and fears within. A place within yourself that not even you like to visit. You don’t know...it’s hard to explain.

You hesitate to call the interaction creepy but the way your skin crawls from the invasive look even now, minutes later, certainly comes close to it.

“How’s your progress with the Siren?” Emily speaks up again after a bout of quiet. She’s still gazing into the tank, turning her head this way and that. Most likely searching for said-entity.

You tear your eyes from the glass, nodding more to yourself than to her, “Alright…he’s shown himself to me,” but Emily already knows that, so perhaps she’s humoring you when she turns to meet your gaze. You find yourself taken back, however, by the serious tilt to her brow. Lips pulled into a frustrated frown.

“Any significant changes in behavior?” Her tone is cool and calm, although you catch the impatient glint in her eye. Impatient because he won’t appear to her or because of our ever evolving timeline, you’re unsure. Either answer has the same effect on your stomach. Twisting it into further knots the longer her irate stare lingers on you.

You frown, shaking your head as you sheepishly turn to flip through your notes, “Well, no. Other than turning visible for me- or when he feels safe- there’s nothing of note. I haven’t started any official tests yet, actually-“

Her responding frown of disappointment silences you immediately.

“You haven’t started? What have you been doing with him the last few weeks... _ playing house?” _

You can’t help but stare back at her quietly, your eyes wide as dinner plates. Emily  _ never  _ snaps at you. Never raises her voice, and never uses her authoritative language on you. Yet, sure enough with each word her CEO mask slips on, causing the words that leak through to be laced with a cold sharpness.

Emily runs a hand over her forehead, pushing away stubborn hairs from her otherwise perfectly tied bun. She says your name- almost hisses it- and sighs, “things are escalating faster now. Have you watched the news lately?”

You simply shake your head.

“Two whales beached themselves south of Whitecliff. Then, within the same hour this morning,  _ three  _ turned up the same way just upriver from Kaldwin’s bridge.”

Five whales beached in one hour. The thought only causes your heart to sink further. Before, it had been a manageable one-time-occurrence every other week with only an increase in whale sightings by those on boats or from the shore. If what Emily’s saying is true- and judging by the stressed curve of her brow  _ it is _ \- Empire can’t keep up like this. Not without something snapping under the weight of it all.

You straighten suddenly, words forming numbly at your lips, “the rash...has the public seen it?”

Emily glares ahead, this time not at you but just above, “I sent out retrieval teams as soon as possible, so it’s only rumors so far. The Abbey, however…” she hesitates, eyes flickering back from you to her tablet in her hands. With a curt shove, she gives it to you.

You fumble with the device for a moment, but when your shaky hands do find a solid grip, big bold letters are the first to register in your frazzled brain.

_ Whales in Dunwall: Migration or Suicide? _

You mouth the headline aloud, and you barely catch Emily nodding in your peripheral, “As to not cause panic or concern, I’ve already released a statement describing the incidents as a new migration pattern- caused by a natural phenomenon of which we're looking into.” She turns as she speaks and paces slowly in front of the tank, well away from the yellow safety line, “skip further down, to the Abbey’s response,”

You swipe down on the tablet, skimming the sublines until you spy what you’re supposed to be looking for.

_ Debate at Whitecliff! _

_ Just along the south coast from the Abbey’s headquarters, two of the five recorded whales threw themselves onto the shores there. As this space is property of the Abbey of the Everyman, it took officials much longer to reach the scene- Especially including the Isles leading marine research and technological company, Empire Industries. By the time their scientists arrived, a group of Overseers present for the beaching had already begun inspecting the whales. From beyond the gate people had a clear view of the arguments that followed. Hands were thrown up, lines were drawn, and tension struck as the two sides went back and forth over the beasts. _

“By the Void,” you curse under your breath, lowering the screen to meet Emily’s narrowed eyes, “how- why didn’t I know about this sooner?”

Emily rounds on you, her glare searing, “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning from my office,” as if to condemn you herself, she digs into her back pocket and pulls out a familiar looking device. Emily places your phone onto the counter with a bit more force than necessary, causing the screen to light up and show several missed calls and a few unseen messages. Even that same news article pops up as a notification, as if mocking you.

“I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe you were just so invested in your work you didn’t hear your phone- yet here you are eating breakfast and twirling your thumbs,”  _ Ouch.  _ “I thought maybe you had learned by now that you need to always be available,” Emily scolds, rolling her eyes, “I thought you said you were coming into the leader-role well?”

“I…” you start, about to defend yourself but the words just get clogged in your throat. They sit there and gather all the unspoken thoughts and insecurities, turning foul on your tongue.

_ Speak up, you damned idiot! _

“I’m sorry, Emily…”

Emily sighs deeply, running a hand over her face before she waves you off. Effectively both silencing and dismissing you.

“If the media or  _ anyone  _ asks,” she begins, already turning from you to glare into the tablet in her grasp, “the whales are simply finding a new migration path. A  _ natural _ phenomenon.” Emily pauses, her hand on the door. She still won’t look at you, her attention drawn to her device as several notifications pop up, “The Overseers are demanding an answer and proper audience later this week. As Head Director of Marine Research you’ll be joining me. I’ll send you the details- oh, and-“

Finally she spares you a glance, her ire-ladened words lashing out at you one last time, “Remember, this is important,” she nods toward the Siren’s tank, “I don’t care what you have to do but we need answers of our own. Get samples, show him pictures and data- I don’t care...we don’t have time for this.”

You’re unsure whether that last statement was more for her sake or your’s but you don’t get a chance to even try and ask, because the vault door shuts behind her with a loud click and whirr.

Her muffled footsteps fade into nothing, leaving you with the static remnants of your conversation. Her words bounce around in your head, an invisible whirlwind of frustration and guilt and anxiety. You let out a shaky sigh, turning towards your notes. There’s no chance you’ll be able to read any of it- not when your mind is running overtime like it is- but you glide your eyes over the same paragraph again and again; just to give them something to do.

_ ‘Emily yelled at me- she actually yelled at me…’ _

When Emily is stressed and frustrated from work, she will don her ‘CEO persona’, as you call it. When she starts speaking firmly and at times even coldly to take control of a situation or to express her frustrations. You’ve seen it happen before with lesser employees, business associates, and even her own father during arguments- but  _ never  _ towards you. You’ve both always been on the same page. Two peas in a pod, as they say. Sure, she’s been stern with you, like the ensuing aftermath of your trip to the Antiques Market, but no matter how bad the situation is or how annoyed you are with one another, she always gets it out then apologizes and moves on. Rants turning into light hearted jabs and teasing quips. What just happened, however, was not that. You haven’t seen Emily that stressed in a long time.

The worst part about this is how terrible it makes you feel inside. The one thing you promised yourself when you came home and accepted this job was that you wouldn’t let anyone down. You wouldn’t disappoint and you would prove that you deserve to be on their level as much as anyone. You aren’t that same girl who grew up in her cold stone cage, living day to day on scraps. You’re a Kaldwin now, and you’ve always wanted to succeed- if not for yourself than to properly thank the family that saved you from a life of darkness. You know deep down that Emily has a point. That you have been making silly mistakes like leaving your phone behind or getting lost at the market. You tell yourself that she’s right and that you did something wrong.

  
  


So then why are you so angry?

  
  


Staring down at your hands, taking in the subtle shake of your fingertips, you barely register the tapping of glass across the room. Looking up slowly, you’re met with the narrowed gaze of the Siren. He’s appeared for you again (something you might find yourself giddy about were you not in such a distressed state) and is currently flashing you a questioning look. With a quick nod, he motions toward the door then back to you, an interested look on his face. No longer are his endlessly black eyes filled solely with your reflection. Now, it’s as if the moment of intensity never happened at all. He’s back to his usual stoic self, it seems. Thin, pale arms crossed and head tilted.

You huff, shaking your head, “It’s nothing.”

_ ‘But it’s not nothing’  _ he almost seems to be saying, lips parting to let out a disbelieving click of his tongue. Almost chiding. It only makes your frustration plume closer to the surface.

“Please, just drop it,” you mutter, waving a hand through the air as if physically dispersing the tension yourself. You don’t exactly feel like pouring out your woes to the merman in your basement (which is a thought you cringe and regret having immediately- because  _ that  _ sounded creepier than you meant).

He thinks on your response for only a moment before turning and nodding towards your food again. Whether he’s still curious about it or concerned as to why you haven’t resumed eating it you’re unsure. Either way, you aren’t hungry anymore. You shake your head no, pushing the plate away an inch to prove your point. The Siren frowns at this, glazed black eyes lowering boredly.

You sigh, crossing your own arms defensively, unable to stop the shreds of lingering anger from leaking through your tone, “What, do  _ you _ want it then?”

He actually stops to debate the question, lips pursed slightly (of which you quickly tear your eyes away from- thoughts lingering on your previous encounter- don’t think about his intense gaze, don’t think about it,  _ don’t think about it-!).  _ Then, he nods. A curt motion that rustles his short, black hair. You look down to your pancake, the syrup soaked in fully and the sweet treat more than likely cold by now. Well, it’s not like you were going to eat it anyway.

You sigh and move from your strict position, grabbing onto the plate and motioning towards the same spot of which you feed him fish. Immediately, he moves- but not excitedly as you assume. His movements are calculated and flow perfectly with each wave of his long tail. Facial expression pulled thoughtfully.

Idly, the merman in question swishes his tail and is off swimming to the other end of the tank, iridescent shimmers following him wherever he goes. He stops just beneath the ladder and walkway that runs across the water, turning to look at you expectantly. You gulp.

Willing your anxious hands to stop their trembling, you carefully hold the plate in one hand, using the other to begin your ascent. As soon as you get two steps in, you reach up and slide the plate onto the steel catwalk, using the freed hand to steady yourself on your way up.

Below you, the dark green of his scales slide in and out of view as he circles beneath you- not too unlike a shark stalking its prey. You blink and take a deep, calming breath. This is important to get closer to the Siren, and if you can get closer to the Siren you can make scientific progress, and progress means answers, and answers mean...well you’re not sure but at least it’ll get Emily off your back.

Just the thought of her abrupt visit has you feeling annoyed all over again.

_ “What have you been doing with him the last few weeks...playing house?”  _ Her chiding words echo around in your head, amplified by your own swirling emotions.

She’s the one who locked him up in here- the least you can do is make him feel at least a little comfortable! For fuck’s sake he wouldn’t even come out of hiding for weeks!

Urged on by a sudden flare of anger, you barely notice the lack of solid ground beneath your feet. You can’t even bother to acknowledge the fact that, with one misplaced step, you’d be sent careening into cold water to drown. No, your mind is set firmly on what you feel in that moment: annoyance and frustration. Anger is an emotion you’re intimately familiar with yet have little to no experience expressing it. Rather, you’ve never felt comfortable with the feeling. You’d much rather ignore it, or simply fix the problem and move on.

But how can you fix it if she won’t even give you a chance?

As the railing ends suddenly beneath still shaky fingers, you finally snap back into the present. You’ve reached the middle portion of the walkway; the suspended circle of steel mesh. A nauseating flash of fear flows through you and up your spine, and you urge yourself to ignore it. Gripping the plate of cold pancakes like a lifeline, you focus on the dark shape flitting this way and that beneath the water’s surface. The iridescence of his scales almost calm you, in the way they remind you of the shells you’d collect with your father as a child.

Key word being:  _ almost. _

“Shit-“ you curse, flinching as the Siren swerves and lifts his head from the water. Only enough for his black eyes to blink widely at you. Anything below the lower half of his nose is muddled by the ripples in the water. Even underwater, he tilts his head, regarding you almost impatiently with the furrow of his brow. You huff in response, ignoring the embarrassed way your cheeks flare up red under his scrutinizing gaze. “Don’t look at me like that. We don’t all have  _ gills and fins.” _

Of course, he doesn’t react, not that you really expected him to. Although he does pull himself up gracefully, just to his elbows which lie neatly beneath his chin. He appears relaxed in this position, and you’d think him a regular human lazing about in the pool- if it weren’t for the ominous solid black eyes and 4 foot long tail. However, you don’t miss the way said-tail curls around him, poised to pull him under and away should you attempt anything. You try not to take it personally, afterall he is a prisoner here. At least he's trying to be civil, that much you appreciate.

Baby steps…or would it be baby  _ paddles?  _ Whatever. Doesn’t matter.

You sigh and plop yourself down not two feet away from him. Just barely out of arm’s length (because you can establish that you don’t completely trust him either- it’s only fair), yet still within polite conversation range. This way you feel much safer, rather than up on shaky legs. Unless, of course, the steel catwalk gives way under you- which now you really  _ really  _ don’t want to think about either.

The merman eyes up the plate of breakfast as you set it down and slide it over gently. You’re still holding the fork in one hand, spinning it between nervous fingers as you take in his first reactions. The Siren narrows his eyes, leaning forward a fraction to inspect the strange and unknown dish. Wrinkling his nose, he seems to sniff the air above it for anything out of place, a look you immediately find absolutely adorable. Without any further prompting, the Siren raises himself and reaches out a hand to grab a piece; one of the bites you had cut for yourself but never picked up on the fork. With only a moment's hesitation, he brings the soggy piece to his mouth and takes a bite of the edge. Rather, it’s more of a nibble but that is to be expected. You find yourself briefly drawn to the points of his teeth. They’re sharp but not like a shark’s. They’re at the middle ground between sharp and rounded. Capable of biting through scales and meat, but only when enough force is applied. Does that mean Siren’s are omnivorous? Or perhaps they  _ are  _ carnivorous as you had assumed but are still capable of eating plants and non-meat forms of sustenance. Either way, you quickly turn your head away to keep from staring.

Instead, you watch from your peripheral as the Siren takes more nibbles, which soon turn into eager bites. Eventually he even begins tearing off more bite sized pieces. He never grows ravenous or messy, just showing enough interest to tell you that he approves of the taste.

You both sit in silence for a solid minute, filled with stolen glances, soft chewing, and barely heard scrapes of nails against the porcelain plate. Eventually you even allow yourself enough time to calm down and wander. You stare down into the intricate designs that adorn the bracelet he wears. Your gift from the market. You sigh.

“I wish I could set you free,” you admit, and he spares you only a fleeting, disinterested glance.

“but you’ll have to work together with me first.” You nod, bringing your legs up to prop your chin on. Your arms wrap around them gently, fingers now nearly stilled as they grasp at one another. “You help me heal the whales, and you can go home...deal?”

Still stuck behind the language barrier, the Siren only continues to chew and stare back at you blankly. Despite this, he seems to think it over to himself, webbed fingers tapping along the steel walkway. Curtly- almost arrogantly- he nods, before returning to his treat.

You roll your eyes and move forward with the fork, pausing only as he freezes. He doesn’t move an inch but it’s better than finching back or leaving entirely, which is a good sign. With a gentle smile his way you cut the rest of your breakfast into bites, unable to contain your amusement as he watches you carefully.

You lean back and resume the position you had before; knees tucked under your chin. Your teeth bite into your lower lip to stop the grin from forming.

This time he only stares at your mouth for a second before resuming his meal.

You pretend not to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have this loose headcanon that Emily, for all her wisdom and experience, doesn't handle large amounts of stress very well and would easily slip into Empress-Mode to gain back the control she's lost...so that was a bit of an inspiration here haha  
> But a little friction between friends is inevitable in these sorts of situations...as least we made up again with the Siren, but can we keep it that way..?
> 
> Oh, and don't forget the Abbey of the Everyman, because now /they're/ suspicious too...
> 
> This will all end well, probably. Hopefully.


	12. Miscommunications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween from your local cryptid! 🎃 👻 This season may not be very //normal//, but I still hope you have fun, stay safe, and eat lots of candy <3

_ -With the press conference against the Abbey on the horizon, tensions rise both in the laboratory and at home, with further danger swelling in the near future.- _

It becomes a quick ritual for you and the Siren. Sharing breakfast in the mornings when you have time. It depends on the day of course. Early on in the week is nearly impossible with your demanding schedule. The later ends are somewhat more plausible but not without the chances of you receiving business calls during your office hours.

As head of your department, you have a surprising amount of flexibility. For the most part you do your work from your office, which you nearly never use anyway. The only times your physical presence is required is to oversee the whales, help run tests, or speak with clients and sponsors. The latter is more rare; a job typically left to Emily or Corvo as president and vice respectively. This means that you’re, in a way, your own boss. Given your introverted nature, however, you spend as much time alone as possible. You’re more productive that way.

You’ve gotten used to the motions of it all; bringing your laptop and charger down to work at the table in the vault, sorting the old tomes from ‘potential leads’ to ‘fanatical ramblings’, sorting through emails and writing up reports…

Well, maybe it  _ is  _ a lot at times. But this was your dream job, after all, so the workload isn’t a total shock.

You sigh into your third cup of coffee this hour, praying to the spirits that this day isn’t as long as the last few. Just get to the weekend...that’s what you keep telling yourself.

“Mm, what about this one?” You hum, flipping your laptop around to show the Siren. He’s currently reclined over one of the rocks near your reading nook on the floor. You worried at first whether or not it was comfortable for him, but he doesn’t seem to care much. No, he appears quite  _ bored _ really, with one arm draped over his face and the other dragging below to pick at grains of sand. He pauses in his morning nap to spare you a glance. His narrowed black eyes blink once then twice at the image on your screen...then he turns away. Disinterested.

You pout, spinning it back to you for what feels like the millionth time. You’ve been scouring Empire Industries’ records searching for the perfect combination of nutrients to feed the whales, who have recently stopped eating entirely. You had gone back and forth with one of the head scientists, Dr. Hargreaves, before deciding on (or rather  _ he  _ convinced _ you _ ) that artificial supplements were the way to go. At the time you had thought a blend of something organic would be best- things found naturally and harvested in a way that would keep them fresh and pure in the ocean. The whale’s diets had been a small detail at the time and you hadn’t thought the argument was worth pursuing. Now that the whales aren’t eating  _ at all _ , now their diet is a problem. Strange disease or not- you can’t cure them of the strange rashes if they starve themselves.

You just don’t know what else to give them. They won’t even eat what you fed them in the first place; a combination of krill and smaller proteins. Leading you to where you are now and have been for at least an hour. Pestering the Siren for help. After all, who would know the creatures of the sea better than someone who’s lived alongside them.

He seemed to get the concept well enough. You had arrived and bribed him with breakfast (this time letting him sample one of the in-house chef’s cherry pastries) and after lots of images and hand gestures, you managed to grab his attention and convey the issue at hand.

The Siren’s initial expression is still fresh in your mind. When you showed him a picture of the whales in the lab, he froze up. His brows twisted together in a contemplative- almost irritated- look. The way he reacted showed recognition, and a twinge of something else you can’t name. Emotions kept sealed tightly behind void black eyes. Either way, it stuck with you, and you can only hope he actually knows what he’s talking about.

Because right now, he’s not being super helpful.

“Am I even close? Is this even the right  _ ocean?”  _ You grumble, sparing him a glance and still finding him as nonchalant as can be. Of course, your foreign words don’t register and therefore he doesn’t answer, but you’re getting antsy. It’s almost 8:30 in the morning, and you have work at 9.

Suddenly, right on time, your phone begins to shake beside you. An incoming call, judging by the button prompts you can see in your peripheral. It’s not Emily like you initially fear. No, it’s Corvo’s name that pops up on the screen, accompanied by a somewhat comedic photo of him drinking his morning black coffee, one eyebrow raised for the candid shot. Had you been anyone else, there’s no way this photograph would continue to exist but for you he simply scowled and rolled his eyes. A silent go-ahead on the condition you keep it to yourself- of which you’ve respected.

“Hey Corvo,” you answer, crooking the phone between your shoulder and left ear. All the while your hands fly across the keys, looking for possible subspecies of fish you haven’t thought to try.

_ “You left for work yet?” _ His gruff voice comes through the speaker. Then before you can even think up a response he’s continuing his thought,  _ “let’s take a car together.” _

It’s not a question, it’s a request...or a command. That can’t mean anything good. You rack your brain for reasons as to why he’d want to speak with you, all while multitasking with your computer.

You spin the laptop around again, this time displaying a Silverback Tyvian Tuna. The Siren stirs and peeks open black eyes to gaze upon it. He thinks a beat longer than usual then shakes his head. You hold back an annoyed groan and continue narrowing down your options.

“Is something wrong?” You find yourself asking into the phone during the wordless exchange.

Corvo’s voice stays monotonous as he responds,  _ “Come upstairs,”  _ You pout, scrolling through smaller species of the same variety.

“How did you know I was in the…?” You drone off, half because you know you’re not supposed to talk about the vault where you keep the Siren and half because you’re distracted trying to read through the entries on your screen.

_ “Because ever since you and Em had that spat, you’ve been hiding down there.” _

“I’m not hiding-“ you roll your eyes, spinning the laptop one more time and waiting with bated breath as the merman behind the glass inspects the suggestion. “-I’m simply working harder. Like she wanted.”

_ “Emily doesn’t want you to kill yourself over this, kid,”  _ comes his disapproving grunt.  _ “Just come upstairs.” _

The Siren stares and stares and stares...then, by the grace of some higher being, he nods. A barely noticeable shift but agreement nonetheless.

“Really?” You ask, wide eyed, and the Siren nods again. This time stronger. There’s even a knowing smirk on his face- a little quirk of his lip.

_ “Yes, really-“  _ Corvo replies, mistaking your exclamation for defiance. You shut your laptop and stand abruptly, turning to search quickly for your things.

“No, not- I wasn’t-“ you sigh, switching shoulders when the left one starts to ache from holding up the phone. “I’ll be right there,”

There’s a curt huff, and Corvo hangs up. You shove all your important things into your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. By the time you’ve pocketed your phone and turn to smile goodbye, the Siren has already disappeared. You barely catch the final wisps of black shards as they cut through the water and fade into nothing.

“I’ll be back later tonight for a bit, okay?” You offer, trying not to show your disappointment. Obviously, there’s no answer, but you still roll your eyes.

It’s peculiar, his behavior. One moment, you're eating your respective meals side by side with one another, polite as ever, and then the next he’s swimming circles around you- smug. You sigh as you step out the vault door.

At least it seems he’s come around somewhat.

…

When Corvo greets you at the front gates, it isn’t with a smile or even a muttered  _ ‘g’morning’ _ . It’s with a frown and a grunt as he turns and opens the car door for you. That’s how you know you’re in trouble. As stoic as Corvo can be he always has a soft spot for Emily and yourself.

Yet, given you already know what that trouble is about- given your previous phone call- you’re filled with irritation already. You can see it now as he climbs in after you. Being scolded for not doing your job right. Not doing it fast enough, not focusing hard enough-

_ Disappointed.  _ That’s what the tension in his shoulders must be. The way he sits in the back seat with you as the car starts to move, his arms crossed. The telltale stance of an adult about to scold their unruly child. You didn’t even do anything. Emily is the one who came downstairs and took her frustrations out on you! She’s his  _ blood _ daughter, of course he’d be quick to agree with Emily. Of course he’d think you weren’t suited for the job like she does-!

“I’m sorry about Emily.” He says instead.

You turn and blink at him. Surprised.

He continues to look ahead, into the dark wall that separates the back passengers from the driver in front of the car, “she’s been under a lot of pressure recently,”

“...I saw the news,” you provide quietly, and Corvo nods.

“The Abbey suspects there’s something wrong with the whales- possibly heretical- and now Empire Industries is under a spotlight,”

You’ve had a bad hunch this entire time. The Siren, the whales, the bad storm that swept through Dunwall...what if it is all connected? Or rather, you know they’re connected. But the why’s and how’s are still a mystery to you. Until now you had thought logically and precisely. Assuming the black rashes under the whales’ skin to be of this world...but what if they’re not? Perhaps the Abbey isn’t too far off.

You’re not sure which is worse.

“Cut Emily some slack,” Corvo finally says, “she didn’t mean whatever she said to you,”

You scoff, “All words, even hissed ones, come from some sort of foundation.”

He glances your way, but you stare ahead stubbornly, “she feels bad about it.” he presses.

“How do you know?” you huff, turning to meet his hardened gaze with a glare of your own, “Even if she does, her stubborn pride will never allow her to say otherwise,”

“Because I know Emily,” he dismisses with a curt nod, “and I know  _ you,” _

There’s a beat of quiet, filled only with the sounds of breeze along the vehicle. Tires crunching over the roads that lead directly from the Kaldwin manor to Empire’s Headquarters below. You try and distract yourself by looking out across Dunwall’s skyline. The towering skyscrapers of the modern era dusting along the coastline that never seems to change. A constant in humanity’s ever expanding timeline.

“You’re right, she should apologize,” Corvo mutters across the seat, “but she won’t. ‘Least not in the way you want.”

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be looking for,” you ramble, eyes squinting down on what you believe is the Antiques Market in the distance.

Emily thinks you’ve been wasting time but what exactly is your job description here? First and foremost, heal the whales and figure out this strange sickness; that objective is obvious enough. Secondly, make contact with the Siren and use his knowledge to your advantage. Whether that be to solve the first issue or use him to the advantage of Empire Industries, you’re unclear on. There’s so much none of you know, but starting with the merman in your basement seems like a well enough place to start. The people who had him before, Daud and Billie, must have wanted the Siren for a reason, but what? His magic? His knowledge? None of it sits right in your gut, but where to even start?

Corvo sighs, sounding more tired than he usually does, “There’s a small press conference early next week. You and Emily will be speaking on all the accusations from the Abbey as well as the press, so there’s only so much time to prepare and collect yourselves until then…”

You grimace to yourself, seeing the pristine headquarters building come into view. Suddenly you feel the months worth of work pressing down on your shoulders. “So what you’re saying is...we need to make up and  _ grow up _ before then.”

_ “Precisely.” _

…

From the moment you step foot in the lobby of the Rehabilitation Center, there’s a welcoming party that greets you- and hardly the good kind.

One of your personal assistants steps up to you, a hand flicking frantically through her device. Behind her in the doorway await your head scientists, Dr. Gallahan and Dr. Hargreaves, with matching grim expressions.

“Director,” your assistant nods, barely glancing up from your schedule, “Miss Kaldwin has requested you visit her office sometime today preferably this morning when you arrived-“

“I’ll get to it later,” you dismiss on impulse, still feeling somewhat dejected about the whole exchange. You haven’t seen Emily since your argument, mostly due to your stubbornness and a mix of discomfort. You send a mental apology to Corvo, but you’re just not ready to face her yet. Her words cut deeper than you had initially thought in your moment of shock. Leaving you with an acidic taste in your throat; a mix of shame and anger both for yourself and towards your adoptive sister. Whenever you do try and think about the argument rationally, you simply remind yourself all over again of how  _ pissed off  _ you are. You’ll make up eventually (probably), but right now all you can think about is how disappointed she is in you. How she talked down to you without giving you a chance to explain why you’re taking this so slowly. How you couldn’t stand up for yourself  _ again-  _ just like all the other times someone stepped all over you.

So, with a heavy heart and twisted stomach, you shake your head at your assistant, Mary, who shifts on her feet anxiously.

“Are you sure, Director? Miss Kaldwin seemed  _ quite  _ irritable…”

_ All the more reason to give her some space. _

You swallow your petty thoughts before they can come to fruition. Instead you simply shake your head and smile, “Send her a message and tell her I’m too swamped with work in the lab, but I’ll come up as soon as I can,”  _ and as soon as she cools off. _

“Well, alright…” Mary mumbles, already typing into her company issued phone.

“Director,” Dr. Galahan greets you first with a nod of her head and an equally stiff smile.

“Good morning…” you mutter, blinking wearily at each of their tense positions. Hesitance and worry etched deep into the lines of their faces.

They exchange a glance, and Dr. Hargreaves is the first to speak.

“We have a problem.”

…

It shouldn’t be possible. The water and filters between pens are cleaned  _ constantly  _ both by hand and through the devices littered in several underwater places. You asked for that measure specifically with the disease in mind. You knew it was spread quickly by touch but this…

This is worse than you thought.

“The other whales, the ones that beached themselves earlier this week, are being kept separated in the next room over,” Gallahan explains, her voice staying calm and collected despite the concerned tilt of her brow, “yet somehow they have the sickness, too. They must have had it before coming here- it’s the only explanation...”

You’re at a horrified loss for words as you look over your staff below, flitting back and forth from the two whales suspended in the air and the connected laboratories. Several gossip in groups off to the side, exchanging notes as well as a few glances your way.

What will you do?

You follow your first instinct and march down to the first whale. Whale A, he has been unceremoniously named. You don’t normally get to name the animals you nurse back to health, given their stays are typically quite short. However now you have a feeling this might be more than you bargained for. Until now the only real proof of the disease’s existence had been on the second whale, and any other sightings had been by local fishermen or onlookers. Brief and easily dismissable- nothing more than rumors on the internet. Now, however, both whales you see before you are sick. Matching black patterns like tendrils reaching across their pale gray skin. You can only imagine the other whales in the next room are just the same.

In the corner of your vision, the head scientists look to you rather uneasily. Even the interns across the way have stopped to await your call. The room, despite its enormity, has never felt so suffocating.

You just have to focus. Remember your studies- all the exams and times you were tested as a student. Be a  _ leader. _

_ ‘I thought you said you were coming into the leader-role well?’ _

Your stomach lurches with anxiety. Building and building. Each gaze pointed at you is like a gun to your head. Scorching. Expectant.

You know you can do this. You aren’t a failure no matter what she thinks.

_ Breathe _ .

You take a deep breath in and hold it, mind scrambling through the things that make you happy and calm.  _ Inspired _ . And when you release it…you imagine the horizon over the ocean. You see the sun traveling across the page of a book you finally have the time to read. The rare and tropical fish swimming in swarms behind the glass of your bedroom’s aquarium. The time you share with your new, scaly friend on slow mornings. The iridescent shine of his scales, twinkling like stars under the light. The welcomed quiet you share while getting work done-

You stop yourself from continuing and blink ahead, almost dazed. Perhaps you’ve been spending too much time in the Vault. That’s the only reason the Siren could be taking up so much space in your thoughts.

“Director,” Hargreaves mutters harshly to your right, grounding you back to the present with his urgent and impatient tone, “what should we do?”

You think back on what you know so far about this virus that’s affecting the whales. It’s easily identified, and can be found digging beneath the skin. Crisscrossing patterns of black ink like rotted roots. It’s a sickness spread through  _ touch _ , and apparently now through the water, too. It’s likely then that it isn’t airborne, but simply falling off the whales and leaking into the surrounding water. The sickness also clings to inanimate objects, proven to you after the incident a week or two ago. Anything that comes into direct contact becomes infected. That’s probably the strangest thing about this disease, now that you think about it. A virus that has no regard for whether it’s host is animate or not. The blackness simply clings to whatever it can to spread and grow.

That’s worrisome, and should be dealt with accordingly.

“I stand by my previous rule, even more so now,” you begin, skin prickling as several eyes are drawn to you expectantly, “ _ no touching.  _ We have yet to see what this virus does to a human…” your eyes trail up to the two sick whales. They grumble lowly, distantly. Their eyes fogged over and sightless as they hang limp and half-dead.

“...and I have no intention of finding out.”

“How will we gather data, then?” Dr. Hargreaves bites, scowling up at the whales with a harshness you don’t particularly like.

“You’re right, we need samples to study if we’re going to cure this,” you nod, “Empire will simply have to invest in more... _ disposable  _ equipment.”

“Then what?” Gallahan scoffs, crossing her arms as she peers down at you, “Why don’t we just toss out the whole lab while we’re at it.”

You shift on your feet, but urge yourself to stand strong. Despite your inner desire to be anywhere else but here debating such a thing, you glare back at her, “What would  _ you  _ propose, Dr. Gallahan?”

She huffs, and you swear you can start to see her ears to red with either embarrassment or anger, you’re unsure. “Well, I don’t know, but with something this volatile  _ surely  _ this is out of our hands now.”

You see the troubled look in her eye. Hear the superstitious mumbles across the room.

History has not been kind to the people of the Isles. Particularly when faced with the topic of plagues. Nearly 200 years ago, a terrible sickness ravaged the known world. The  _ Rat Plague _ as it’s known now in history books. Occurring at the peak of the new technological age, thanks to whale oil, the sickness spread like wildfire and took the lives of hundreds of thousands of people, regardless of status. Talk of heresy and black magic was much more common back then, and many people genuinely believed the plague to be a direct result of man’s hubris over whales. Because we took from nature they took from us. At least, that was the unofficial gossip among those most affected. Even after the Rat Plague was finally cured and vaccines distributed, people passed along the fear and the dread. The event instilled a fear that lingers even hundreds of years since.

Nothing good can come from a pandemic, you suppose. It’s almost funny, in a strange way, because had you been faced with this a year ago you would have laughed. Magic, divine intervention, punishment- it’s all nothing but words in the face of science and modern medicine. But now, while you’re still thinking logically, you can’t help but wonder if this is somehow anything but  _ natural. _ You’ve seen glimpses of magic firsthand. Who’s to say this isn’t something similar?

But as you look out across the uneasy faces of your staff you know you have to be strong. For them.

“If the public finds out about this,” you begin to reply, slowly and calmly, “and how quickly it spreads through not only touch but through the  _ water… _ it will be panic.”

Dr. Gallahan continues to glare down into you, but now it’s more absentminded. Distant, as she comes to terms with whatever is flying through her head.

“Besides,” you offer, “our department is already equipped to handle sicknesses in sea animals. This is just...a slightly more advanced case of that.” She scoffs lightly but makes no comment, even as you continue, “It’s not care and treatment I’m worried about, but the research might be more difficult.”

“If I may,” Hargreaves clears his throat, effectively budding back into the conversation, “perhaps we should make a formal proposal to Miss Kaldwin and the Head of Aquatic Biology. If there’s anyone in this company equipped to look into such a task it’s them.”

You hum in acknowledgement, balancing back on your heels as you pick and choose your response, “That seems like the next logical step, yes…”

Within Empire Industries there are three departments, each headed by an appointed director. The largest and most prominent of the branches is one you know personally; your own Department of Research. Your department’s job is to go out into the world or stay within the rehabilitation center and gain valuable information that can be passed along to the other departments in the company. There’s even a sub-department of research, Animal Training, who work as sort of caretakers for all the marine creatures in your care- providing physical upkeep and even therapy when required. The second largest part of Empire Industries is the Department of Biology, headed by the Director of Aquatic Biology. Their job is to take information and samples from Research and delve deeper into the science of it. Typically they stay solely inside the laboratories and rarely go out into field work themselves. They’re the ones who create hard data from the science they know best. Thirdly, the other equally important sector is the Department of Engineering. Headed by the Director of Nautical Engineering, their jobs are to use data from the other two departments to create and prepare Empire's real money-makers: the technology. Given the Isles’ dependency on the abundance of surrounding ocean, it’s only natural that society has come so far from using that resource to its fullest extent. Empire’s leading charge in the realm of sea-travel, underwater mining, renewable energy, and more are all due to the hard workers behind the Engineering Department.

All the departments communicate with one another normally, but even more so now than ever will you have to work together. You know of the other Directors and have met them on sparse occasions, however it’s been left mostly to formal emails.

But it’s not the other Directors you're afraid of.

“We can’t just submit a proposal to Engineering ourselves?” You ask, hesitantly, “We really have to go through Emily?”

Dr. Hargreaves smiles lopsidedly, looking at you with a rather stupefied expression, “Well of course, Director, all transactions of this sort of scale must be made through the CEO…”

Never before have you so  _ badly  _ wished to smack the smirk off his face. You are not an idiot, you know these things- or you  _ should _ \- but you really really don’t want to talk to Emily right now. Corvo can grumble about it all he wants, you simply need some space and evidently so does she. If he’s worried about the press conference, then he doesn’t need to worry about you. You’ll be able to put on a formal face and be an adult.

Ok, maybe you’re being a little petty. And therefore a little childish. But by the Sirens you are staying stubborn on this one. You didn’t do anything wrong- it’s  _ her  _ who should be coming to you. Not sending some underpaid intern to fetch you like you're just some employee and not her sibling.

And maybe, just maybe, a small, insecure part of yourself just can’t bear to face her potential disappointment.

You sigh deeply and walk up to the first whale. As your eyes follow and get lost in the swirling black patterns adorning its skin, you call out for Mary. Your assistant skips up beside you, bouncing uneasily on her toes.

“Mary, I need you to draft up a proposal to  _ Miss Kaldwin _ , asking for permission to expand this... _ project  _ into the Biology Department.” She nods along as you go, writing notes in her planner quick as lightning, “We’ll go over the specifics in my office, but I’ll have to talk to their Director first…” after all, you don’t even really know what you’re asking for- not that you’d admit it openly. You know next to nothing about this sort of thing. Especially when it comes to machines and the proper science that comes with a virus like this. It’s uncharted territory that you need a better opinion on.

Damn this whole process! Why does it always have to be more paperwork? Why can’t you just waltz into the Biology labs now and ask yourself?! It’s as if the universe  _ wants  _ you to make a fool of yourself.You figure the day can’t get much worse-

“ _ Head Director-“  _ a familiar voice hisses your name coldly, nearly sending you flying out of your skin.

Oh yes, the universe  _ definitely  _ has it out for you.

You turn slowly, meeting Emily’s hardened gaze that looks a little too much like her father’s signature glare. She doesn’t even grace you with a fake smile. No she simply crosses her arms, towering over anyone else in the room by sheer presence alone.

“I need to speak to you in my office.”

...

Emily doesn’t have to wait long. Although it feels like an eternity with her staring into the back of your head as you order around your staff.

Before you leave again, you make sure the interns are doing their jobs, writing notes for their respective mentors, and that said-mentors are feeding and taking care of the whales. Assuming all goes as planned, the samples should be collected and prepared to be sent out by the end of the day.

She does pull you away promptly however, by the _wrist_ in fact, as soon as you’re both out of eyeshot. It’s just to the elevator, but there’s a frustrated forcefulness to it that bothers you- beyond the obvious.

As you look down with wide eyes at the hand grasping you, all you can think about is your mother. Cold.

But you aren’t a child anymore, so when you pull away sharply, you come free easily. So easily, in fact that you nearly stumble away with the strength behind it. Barely catching yourself with a quick step of your feet.

Emily turns to stare surprised at your sudden leap away, but you can’t hold her eyes. No matter how much you press yourself to, all you can do is stare down at the floor and rush into the elevator. You hope silently she just doesn’t see the fear in your eyes.

_ Breathe _ . This is only Emily, don’t be dramatic.

After only a moment’s hesitation, Emily joins you in the lift, standing quietly across from you. There’s a long and uncomfortable silence, in which you stare ahead and ignore her searing glances. Finally, she speaks, and you’re just thankful she doesn’t bring up your behavior a moment ago. It gives you a moment to collect yourself. Grounding you at this moment in time.

“ _ ‘Swamped with work in the lab’  _ huh?” She sighs to herself, but you don’t- rather  _ can’t _ \- answer. Not that you want to anyway.

“You know,” she starts again, her voice retaining its coldness but just a few degrees warmer, “had you been anyone else, I would have fired you just now.”

It takes physical effort, pushing strained words out through a locked jaw, but you manage, “In front of all those people? What a spectacle that would be.”

“An  _ example _ ,” Emily explains, looking over to you- of which you still don’t return- “but you’re not any old employee of Empire. You’re  _ you _ . Family.”

“Really?” You can’t help but ask, finding the bitter words easily among a sea of nerves and insecurities, “because during our last conversation you weren’t treating me like family.”

She frowns, but remains silent as the doors of the elevator open. Wordlessly she leads you away towards her office. This time she only beckons to you with a wave, trusting you to follow. You do, reluctantly, counting your steps on the smooth, tiled floor as you go.

You hope this conversation isn’t as one-sided as you feared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I will admit, this chapter is a bit of a segue into the next one so I know not too much happened however it's building up for the next chapter which is a //big// one, and is long enough already as it is...trust me you'll know when you see the title~ ;) So look forward to that!
> 
> Once again, Happy Halloween! And I hope you're enjoying the story, see you next week!


	13. The Mark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy, one of my favorite chapters so far~
> 
> ((yes, you read that title correctly...))

_ \- Siblings fight all the time, that's what they say anyway...but you never thought that would apply to you and Emily. - _

Emily Kaldwin is a strong, confident, and at times headstrong woman. She’s been dealt her fair share of unlucky hands in her lifetime and still come out successful and kind.  _ Wise  _ even. She’s a perfect combination of her father- strong willed and stubborn- and her mother- passionate and intelligent.

Unfortunately at this moment, she’s leaning heavily on the former set of adjectives. Currently she’s staring you down- unrelenting- from across her desk, a normally relaxed setting for the two of you to work. However now, it feels more like a battlefield. A war you’re destined to lose if the fights are all about comparing willpower.

That’s probably what frustrates you most of all.

From where you sit on the other side of the desk, you can make out the words on the paper she’s currently signing. A rough draft of a script for the upcoming press conference. When Empire Industries will make an official statement on the series of whale beachings. A plan must be made by then and scripted words picked to perfection. Even in the face of the Abbey of the Everyman, we must not show weakness. Void knows we already have enough on our plates. Adding angry Overseers to the list will only make things much worse. When Emily finally says your name, you straighten in your seat, hands clasped uncomfortably. As if you’re about to be scolded by an adult. You bristle beneath the skin the feeling of inadequacy that washes over you.

“Due to the circumstances, we have to make a statement on what’s going on, and  _ soon _ . So the date of the press conference has been moved up to tomorrow. The 3rd of Nets.” She leans forward, a faux air of nonchalance, but you’ve learned to recognize the stressed lines of her brow, “As third in power of the company and Head Director, you’ll be the one to explain the science behind the whales’ behavior.”

She sighs, hands shifting smoothly over the documents laid over her desk, but it’s aimless- absentminded- “Until we have more  _ concrete  _ evidence, you’ll be telling them the theory we have now: a new migration pattern. I have a whole explanation here,” and she picks a paper out of the bunch to push over to your end, “so revise it as you see fit, but be ready to take questions about it.”

“And if the Abbey doesn’t believe this?” You mutter, busy looking over the jumbles of words- not really reading it but simply admiring the shapes each character makes.

Her blunt gaze burns into you as she responds just as fluidly, “There is no such magic present here. Simply a  _ natural _ phenomenon...if they really give us trouble, I’ll step in at that point. Hopefully, Khulan will have a handle on things, though.”

That’s right, you forgot about that man. The current High Overseer and head of the Abbey. He was at your graduation, just a few months ago but it feels more like milenia. Overseers unnerve you to no end, and you’ve always fidgeted under their scrutinizing eyes. They always seem to be looking for loose threads to pull. People to burn. High Overseer Khulan, however, was a nice surprise. From the few talks you’ve heard from him and the brief encounter on graduation day, you know him to be a kind man. Level headed. Hopefully he’ll be just as civil.

Speaking of being  _ civil… _

“Right,” you nod as you reread the same paragraph over and over. You and Emily have never fought before. Never had a real disagreement. There’s been moments when she’s scolded you, sure, but only as much as an overprotective older sister does. No different than the caring-yet-strict advice you’ve ever gotten from Corvo. Not that you’ve ever been good with confrontation in the first place, but when it’s personal like this...it’s all the more frustrating when you can’t protect yourself. You’ve always had a problem with that...the confidence thing.

You know it’s not your fault. You didn’t  _ make _ Emily take out her anger and stress on you. Yet...maybe she has a point. Maybe you haven’t been taking this that seriously, as you should.

Maybe you still have much longer of a way to go to being a leader than you thought.

Anger still lingers deep down in your gut but even more powerful than that is a guilt. Guilt of not meeting their expectations, sure, but also for letting this silly little thing spiral out of control. 

With a slow breath, you take it in then-

**_“I’m sorry-“_ ** you both say at once, immediately silencing the other at the same exact moment.

“...w-what?” You ask, dumbly.

Emily’s mirrored expression of shock immediately narrows into one of accusation, “You shouldn’t be the one apoligizing,”

You blink back at her, confused out of your mind. You were just convincing yourself that this was your fault and  _ now  _ is the time she decides to not be stubborn of all times-!

Instead of forgiving her and making up right away like you should, you shake your head instead, “Em, you were right though I...I’ve been too sensitive- I should have just ignored it I mean, I  _ know  _ you. You just needed to blow off some steam and I…”

“Oh no,” she holds up a hand to silence you, “no no  _ no _ , you are not doing this.”

“This..?”

“You have every right to be mad at me!” Emily nearly whines, hands wringing themselves over the expensive wood of her desk, “I shouldn’t have talked down to you like that...I said some harsh things that I didn’t mean. Therefore I am at fault.”

“But,” you lean back in your seat, arms rising to coil around yourself, “the Si-“

She clears her throat sharply, out of habit, and you quickly stop yourself. On impulse your eyes dart around the room, looking for anything out of place.

“The  _ project _ ,” you try again, and Emily nods stiffly, “has been slow, you're right. I fear I’ve been selfish with h- it.”

“Anyone would feel the same way,” she sympathizes, “this isn’t exactly your typical assignment. A lot is riding on this and everyone’s stressed thin.”

You nod, still unsure if you completely agree but feeling much lighter all the same.

Emily tilts her head slightly at you, the corner of her lips tilting up just so, “Are we good?”

_ “Are we good,”  _ you snort a laugh at her somewhat-childish use of wording, “Yes.”

_ “Yes?”  _ She waves a hand impatiently, beckoning you to continue.

You roll your eyes, feeling a relieved smile grow on your face, “Yes, we are good.”

“Good.” Emily echos in her usual formal voice, as if you two had just closed some sort of business arrangement. She even sits a little straighter, folding her hands over one another cleanly.

“Now back to business. I hear you need a proposal sent and signed for the Biology Department?”

...

The day has been long and grueling. Emotionally and physically tasked, you barely manage to drag yourself home and eat dinner before shuffling down to the Kaldwin Vault to decompress.

It’s funny. Before, you would have been much more comfortable in your room upstairs. Content with the view of your mini-aquarium from the king sized bed. Yet, here you are preferring the messy pile of pillows and blankets at the base of the Siren’s tank.

Speaking of, he appears in a cloud of black shards and reflections as soon as you’re halfway through the door. Usually he waits a minute or so before making himself visible- you assume to check if anyone is following you. It’s a little sweet, actually. That he trusts you now as much as he does...or maybe he’s just hungry and knows you’re the one to feed him. That’s also very plausible.

You smile tiredly, unfazed when he doesn’t return it (he doesn’t seem like a very emotional man, which you’re not offended by- to each their own), before collapsing  _ finally  _ on something soft and plush. You stretch your arms above your head as you arch your back. The soft pops of your exhausted spine are like music to your ears, and you yawn softly.

Opening your eyes again, you lull your head over to find the Siren watching you intensely. Ever since that day, before Emily came in and interrupted, you’ve been observant of his behavior. He had stared so intently that day. As if looking right through you. It had taken you by surprise as well as thoroughly flustered you, leaving you feeling rather bare under his eyes. Like there’s no secret he can’t see. It’s a strange yet alluring feeling you’ve begun to embrace with him. Whether it’s a Siren-thing or a him-thing you really don’t know, but either way it seems to be a part of his personality. He’s curious. Inquisitive. Almost to a fault.

They say curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. In this case, you surmise that  _ satisfaction  _ keeps him interested.

Basically, you can tell he bores easily.

You’d like to think you’ve gotten to know him well enough to perceive that.

“How was your day?” You ponder aloud, turning your head from your sprawled position. The rest of you feels too much like jelly to even try and move.

You know he can’t understand you, but you always try and be polite regardless. Most of the time he doesn’t even  _ try  _ to respond, not even in his native tongue. He’ll usually just stare back at you or occupy himself with something in the tank. For someone so quiet, he sure does move around a lot. It’s something you’ve only recently been able to learn about him. When you’re hard at work on the floor or at the lab table, you can catch the Siren swimming back and forth, flitting this way and that. If he had human legs it would appear as if he were strutting across the length of the tank, deep in thought with whatever it is he thinks about. A part of you wants to believe he’s doing so only because you’re in the room. Sort of like showing off. Otherwise why even make himself visible at all?

The pacing seems to be a quirk of his...it’s  _ cute. _

Not that you’d ever admit that aloud. That would be embarrassing- language barrier damned.

Tonight is no different than any other. The Siren does not answer you in the traditional sense. Instead he cocks his head just an inch, inspecting you as he always does. On anxious impulse, you pull your arms back down to hold around yourself. Not because you don’t trust him, but simply because you don’t like anyone staring at you in  _ general. _ The vaguely defensive move hardly even registers in your brain.

However, something in his thoughtful gaze twitches and fails. His composure breaking enough to express...discomfort? No, disappointment maybe?

He huffs and tilts his head away, and you find the words bubbling to your lips before you can even formally curate them, “Uneventful then, I assume?”

You don’t know why, but your instinct is to keep talking. Keep him interested and entertained even if only idly. The thought of him leaving to sulk somewhere in the back of the tank for hours alone uneases you. That, and it’s been a long day and for once you actually crave some sort of normal interaction. Not from your employees, who couldn’t care less about what you think and feel beyond being their boss. Maybe it’s the lack of words that make your relationship with the Siren so genuine. No need for unnecessary fluff or false words of praise. You’re both content with simply  _ being  _ in the other’s presence. At least, you hope he feels the same way.

The Siren doesn’t swim away at your attempt for a conversation like you fear.

Actually he  _ nods _ . Or, you think he’s nodding until you realize he is in fact motioning with his chin towards your side. Leaning up, you look down as well to find your discarded and messy pile of old books. Banned, technically-heretical novels and tomes each explaining man’s varying theories on the existence of the Void and its Leviathans. A handful are new, actually. Some biological texts you grabbed from the manor library upstairs that contain valuable information about whales. Those ones aren’t so much Siren related as they are...well  _ whale  _ related. You find yourself multitasking now that the situation has elevated itself at work, with the virus.

Just the thought of those poor animals. Sitting in cold water, dying slowly and painfully. You feel so helpless at this stage. Even with your six years of studies and you’re nearly clueless. If the Biology Department can’t help them…

You don’t know what you’ll do.

You must have a troubled look on your face, because suddenly the Siren has ducked down to sneak into your peripheral. His black eyes are narrowed slightly, arms crossed inquisitively.

You blink at his proximity (as close as he can get through an inch and a half of glass, of course) and shuffle up into a more proper sitting position. Your eyes drag down on instinct, unable to hold his prying gaze.

“It’s nothing,” you mutter, but the merman before you hardly seems convinced. Unblinkingly, he watches you and waits for further explanation. His jade green tail flicks back and forth behind him. “just stress from work again…”

You pretend to resort them into piles on your blanket, mind slowly falling into a repetitive loop of worried thoughts. The Siren clicks his tongue and rises up, putting distance between you and himself by swimming in a slow circle. It’s not much, but he offers you a few chiding words in Siren-speak. The syllables taking on a tone of disbelief.

Pouting, you stop in your meddling to glare up at the Siren, who is peering at you from the corner of his eye, “well I’d  _ love  _ to ask your opinion, but you don’t speak English, do you?”

He ignores your comment, instead turning with a slightly elevated amount of interest. Making one last swoop around the tank, he comes to a halt above your sitting area. Usually he bends over or leans against one of the tank’s rocks. That way, he always seems smaller. More human. But when he extends upward with his five foot long tail in view, he appears much more present. Powerful. So untouchable in the way he looks down on you- quite literally- on the floor.

Again, he looks downward. Void-black eyes searing a path over your skin until they reach your hands, still clutched tight over a book. You hadn’t even looked at the cover of this one. It was simply there for your shaky fingers to hold onto something. Yet, when you turn the faded book, your breath catches.

It’s the fanatical linguistics book you had found forever ago and looked through in an attempt to figure out  _ some  _ kind of communication with the Siren. The same book that has a whole section dedicated to the very ritual that sent the Siren running with an angered flash of electricity.

_ The Arcane Bond. _

As soon as the words register in your head, you look up to your companion, nervous excuses already rising to your lips.

“Oh, I forgot I left this one here- I-I can get rid of it,” you begin to say but trail off as you take in his expression.

When you first showed him the illustration of the ritual, he had immediately acted out. It was the most emotion you’ve ever seen him express at once. You genuinely feared that you had ruined any semblance of trust you had built between you two. He disappeared so fast his magic had leaked and shocked the water for Spirits’ sake! You could feel the ghost of his anger shocking your skin for hours afterward. You’re lucky he forgave you, considering everything, and he still wears the bracelet you gifted him constantly. That, at least, is a comforting detail.

Now, however. There isn’t a shred of that anger on his face. In fact, he looks more thoughtful than ever. It’s the same intense stare he had a few days ago. When he seems to look through you,  _ this  _ is the expression he wears.

You don’t dare move. You’re pinned under his shadow and gaze, quite literally. Awaiting his reaction with bated breath. It’s the rare moments like these when you’re both entirely focused on the other. Like nothing else exists but you and the darkness of his gaze, always threatening to swallow you whole.

You think they’re kind of pretty, in their own dangerous way.

His tail coils up beneath him and you flinch, half-expecting him to act out. His frown deepens at this, and for a single moment you feel guilty.

Because of course he wouldn’t harm you- at least you are mostly sure. All he’s trying to do is pull his weight around to swim across the tank again. This time when he makes a slow circle, he comes to a stop beneath the catwalk that hovers over the water. Watching you from afar, he waits there, head tilted, awaiting your response.

Eyes snapping open you move to get up, tossing the unfavorable book across the vault floor. Just in case he’s even a little irritated you’d still have it. He doesn’t react much, which somewhat unnerves you.

What’s different now?

You shake your head with a nervous smile, shoes tapping along the concrete floor as you make your way over to the ladder.

“Sorry, I completely forgot. You haven’t had dinner yet, right?” You don’t look up to see his reaction, or lack thereof. You busy yourself with grabbing some fish from the adjacent fridge and placing them into the bucket beside you.

Now for the hard part…

Climbing the ladder and walking across the top of the tank is the worst for you. Given your past experience and lack of ability to tread water...it makes you  _ very  _ uncomfortable. However you do it for the Siren, and that’s what keeps you from simply tossing the fish over the top like you used to. Before he started trusting you enough to let you get close.

Something that helps to ground you is holding tightly to the metal railing and nudging it. Just to ensure that it’s still solid and won’t bend or shake loose. No, it’s not the physicality of your fear that scares you the most.

It’s the memories. Old ghosts from days long past, always lingering to torture you. Fear you don’t think you’ll ever shake.

There’s a sharp splash as the Siren’s tail breaches the surface, then disappears again when he continues circling the platform from below. The iridescence of his scales beneath the swirling surface prove to sooth you. Their shiny quality sends brief rainbow-colored reflections across the ripples that they cause. It’s a beautiful effect you welcome, if it means you don’t have to think about what would happen if you fell in.

Finally, you reach the middle. With cautious, only barely shaking hands you set down the bucket at the water’s edge and wait in a kneeling position. It doesn’t take long before his head appears. Half-submerged to the bridge of his nose, he stares back at you with wide, black eyes. Maybe it’s the silly way he’s still mostly underwater or your lingering nerves, but you find yourself stifling a laugh by biting into your lip.

Carefully and deliberately, he raises himself up with his webbed hands until his elbows are supporting himself on the metal mesh of the walkway. All the while never taking his eyes off of you. It’s with his usual intensity, but that doesn’t mean it still doesn’t make you squirm.

He runs a hand through his cropped black hair, pushing back the water from his eyes just for the strands to fall back into place.

You force your gaze to the bucket beside you, anything to distract yourself from trailing the droplets of water as they follow the sharp contours of his face.

For a room normally so cold you are feeling  _ very _ warm. Specifically in your face.

So when he suddenly grasps your extended wrist, the sheer difference in body temperatures seems all the more extreme.

Heart sent fluttering in a swell of fear and other mixed emotions, you try to pull away on impulse. His grip tightens in response, but not in a demanding way- not like when Emily tried to pull you against your will from the lab earlier today. He doesn’t try to urge you anywhere you don’t want to go. The Siren releases pressure as soon as you stop trying to fight his grip.

He just wants you to stay still. Evident in the way he continues to grasp your wrist (now much more gently), endlessly black eyes staring into the back of your left hand. There’s a thoughtful look on his face as he ponders  _ whatever  _ he thinks about.

The following silence is suffocating. Thick and heavy with that same damn  _ tension _ .

Why is he staring at your hand like that?

Words fall from his tongue. Soft but deliberate in a beautiful and ancient sounding language you can never begin to understand. It almost sounds like gibberish, but that would be offensive to the harmonious way each word floats from his lips. No, the language of the Sirens is melodic.

Each sound carrying into the next one. This is the moment you realize you love hearing his voice. Even if you can’t understand a word of his rambling, it reaches your ears all the same. Maybe not sinking in, but certainly making an impact all the same. You can see now why there are so many stories of sailors being tempted off the sides of boats. Chasing more of the Siren’s words as they roll off native tongues.

As he speaks, you are allowed a real moment to look over his features. This close, you can see the faint pinpricks of his teeth, shining in the light as they help him formulate sentences. You notice the sharp lines of his pale face. The thin frame of his shoulders to what you know of his chest-

His skin is so smooth. Have his hands always been so soft? Has he ever actually touched you before? By the Spirits, you’re losing your damn mind here! You’re nervous, like your stomach is doing flips so high it nudges your heart with each beat. Fingers shaking not from fear anymore but something else entirely. It’s like static anywhere he touches you… _ What is wrong with you? _

Only when he stops lecturing you are you snapped out of your reverie. As if he had you in a trance locked only so long as he continued to speak. For the first time in minutes your eyes lift and meet him once again.

Whatever indecision he had been wearing moments ago is gone now. He’s made up his mind.

He takes a long, deep breath in, and when it comes out you feel a shift.

The air around you both seems to pressurize. Cutting away and growing colder. Darker. Even your vision blurs with the change as the world around you  _ bleeds _ . Whatever had been there before is soaked and replaced in something new. Something old. Something  _ hollow _ yet  _ whole. _

A burst of black encompasses you both. The same black shards of obsidian that manifest around the Siren when he turns invisible. The shards come at you so fast and unexpectedly that you screw your blurry vision shut on impulse.

And when you next open your eyes, you’re back  _ there _ . The place from your recurring nightmares back when you still had them. When you first started staying at the manor again, post-graduation.

It’s the same type of environment; dead cold and windy. An endless black sky with a night that never seems to end. Black rocks of obsidian create islands which are surrounded by splotches of inky black ocean. The currents swirl and drip upwards, creating a space that can’t logically exist. It’s as if reality itself bends to the laws of this place.

When you look up from where you are now apparently standing (no Siren in sight), you find smaller islands of black rock. Jagged edges holding up ruined pieces of boats and architecture like buildings and light posts.

A shadow passes over you, a huge, slow moving shape from behind.

When you spin around to see, you are met with the glazed eye of a whale. Hanging nearly limp in the sky above you, it gazes ahead. It’s skin is crisscrossed with the same black virus you’ve become very familiar with at work. But this one is so much worse. Nearly the entire end half of the animal is jet black. The dark tendrils pulse and writhe. Shifting and blurring at the edges.

But that’s only what you can gleam in the second you pay it mind. No, you’re far too distracted by the figure hovering in front of you.

The Siren is upright, tail coiling in a slow circle below it, as if treading water to stay afloat even though you’re certain you’re not underwater here. Your chest may be tight, but you can still breathe the crisp air around you- even if it bites your lungs with each inhale. You’re not drowning.

With the way the whale hovers behind him, it casts a deep shadow across his silhouette. What little light fades down is filtered across the scales of his lower half. His eyes are, surprisingly, reflective despite their pitch shade. Almost glowing as they look down on you.

His arms are crossed casually, as he usually carries himself. He doesn’t seem shocked by our change in setting in the slightest. In fact, he looks more at home here than he ever has in the tank.

A few short words leave him, and with a nod of his head, a shock is sent through your body. From your chest to your left arm down to the hand. A burning sensation but not in the regular sense. This fire burns cold from the inside out. Like having frostbite below the skin.

Grimacing in discomfort, you grasp the hand and bring it up for inspection, finding a symbol being burned into place. It’s almost tribal in nature, with all sharp edges pointing somewhat like a compass within a half circle shape. The symbol glows bright blue with electricity, fading to amber as you flex the muscles beneath it. Finally, it settles entirely, and lies still over your hand a solid black- like a tattoo. The remaining ripples of energy flow through that limb, climbing up into your lungs with every shaky breath.

You blink with no doubt wide eyes, turning your left hand over at all angles in the dim light.

“What...what is this?” You ask the space around you, feeling suddenly more  _ aware _ . As if the winds are no longer as erratic. You can almost hear their songs in the distance. Was that always there?

Then, the air bleeds again, and while the environment doesn’t change this time, something inside you does. There’s a shift and click inside your head. A burst of energy behind your eyes and in your ears, and when the static finally fades you hear his voice. The words lingering around your ear finally seap in.

_ “This is my mark,”  _ a familiar voice answers, and you immediately look up to the Siren, who has lowered himself slightly. His black eyes are narrowed down over your hand, which is still extended somewhat away from your own body.

When they lift up to meet you, you find yourself shocked silent. He tilts his head just slightly, regarding you with an amused smirk.

  
  
  
  


_ “And I am the Outsider.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's //finally// happened! After a period of uncertainty, and struggling to trust each other, our dear Reader has been gifted the mark! 
> 
> Apologies for another cliffhanger, I'm incredibly chaotic neutral in alignment- but the next one is also quite long of a chapter and I didn't want it to go over 9,000 words...
> 
> The Reader can hear and understand him?! How is that possible??? You'll have to wait until next week to find out~


	14. Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is part 2 of The Mark...enjoy <3
> 
> ((You have no idea how long I've waited to start writing real dialogue / scenes with the Outsider... 👀💕))

_ \- There's a connection between you now. An invisible string keeping you both ever within reach of the other. He says you can do things with it that no one else can...but what exactly does that mean? -  _

Your hand still burns, but not in a painful way. Like a newfound power is lying in wait just beneath the mark and the skin. If you concentrate hard enough you can feel the bones vibrating with a cold flame.

But at the moment you’re a little distracted.

Looking up at the Siren, his words echo through your head.  _ English  _ words.

“I just...understood you?” You offer, lamely, and his smirk returns full force.

“This is the first question you have for me? An endless array of possibilities have been born at your fingertips...and you’re curious as to how we are communicating?”

That’s probably just about the most you’ve ever heard him speak in the months you’ve known him so  _ yes _ . You are a little unprepared at the moment. If anything the admission makes you flare up defensively. How long has he been pretending to not understand you? How long have you been embarrassing yourself trying to spell things out for him like an adult teaching a toddler.

As if sensing your encroaching frustrations, the Siren shakes his head, expression reverting back to it’s usual lazy interest, “You’re mistaken. I know no more words of your land-language than you do mine.” His tail flicks below him, thoughtfully as his chin lifts to gaze up at the whale above you both, “This is the first ability I have gifted to you. The most basic of fundamentals.”

“You’re very articulate for someone who claims they don’t actually speak english.”

He actually sighs at that. A subtle movement of his chest you barely catch. His frown tells you that he’s disappointed, but he doesn’t give you a proper response before disappearing in a cloud of smoke and black crystals.

“Aren’t you more curious as to the mark that now lies embedded in your flesh?” His voice asks, echoing around the dark, confusing space.

You turn around but don’t spot him anywhere. Despite your instinct to keep calm, you can’t deny the racing pulse of your heart. He’s right. There are more important things that should be explained first…

Like maybe  _ what the fuck is going on?! _

“Okay...then I’ll humor you,” you mutter, head drooping to gaze down at the mysterious symbol tattooed to the back of your left hand. “What is this? You said this was... _ your mark?” _

“The mark of a Siren…” comes his voice right behind your ear, causing your entire body to straighten in surprise. He continues even as you spin around with a sharp exhale of shock, “Powers and abilities beyond the reach of man. A byproduct of things laid just outside our field of vision,” and he gestures with one arm around you both. The island of obsidian beneath you out to the strange dimension you find yourselves in. “Humans have driven themselves mad in search of it. Entire cultures burned for trying to understand it. You call it  _ magic.” _

He seems so different now that he can speak full sentences. Like the cap on his personality has finally been lifted. He still carries himself the same way as he does in the tank; flitting this way and that. Tilting his head and gazing at- sometimes  _ through-  _ you in calculated interest. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing if you weren’t so confused and disoriented. Being in this place before has been hard on your body and mind. Waking up from nightmares of cold, black waters leaving you on edge as you struggle to discern what is and isn’t a dream. Now, at this very moment however, you feel...different. Before you felt out of place. As if you did not belong here. Like a piece to the wrong puzzle. Now though something has changed. When you flex the muscles in your fist, the fire flows over from  _ somewhere _ and into your blood. Through your veins. The same energy as the environment you find yourself in. 

Whatever this place is now has a piece of itself in you...and you have no idea how to feel about this revelation.

Is this magic? But if that is what you feel- the energy that’s just  _ barely _ out of reach- then that would make this place…

“Where...are we?” You ask, but deep down you think you know the answer. He does too, judging by the way he blinks at you. Slowly, and knowing. Giving you time to let it all sink in.

The kick of his tail through the air sounds muffled. As if you really are both underwater, and your ears are simply clogged full of fluff. The way he circles you shows his curiosity, but from your perspective it feels more predatory.

“I’ve been here before,” you prompt, driven to continue rambling anxiously when all you get from him is a vague hum of acknowledgement, “it was off putting at first- or...it still is...and I thought it just some fragment of my dreams. But now…”

There’s a gust of wind and the Siren shifts down to be right in front of you. Just two feet away, with his arms crossed and face neutral. Slowly the pieces come together for you. This place is too similar to what you’ve read about in the vault’s occult novels. The place whispered about by fanatics and preached against by the Abbey. A place that lingers just beyond our world. Where the spirits of old and new fade away into nothingness.

Only one place comes to mind.

“This is the Void..?” You answer, but the end of your sentence tilts into something more unsure. Half-way between a statement and a question.

Seemingly satisfied with your deduction skills he nods, the barely-there ghost of a smile on his face. But it’s a strained gesture.

“The powers that come naturally to the sea-people have their roots in veins like these.” He looks off as he says this, black eyes narrowing as he takes in the sharp edges of the island you stand on, “invisible rivers that flow endlessly from the pool they started in. Obtainable only by those with an  _ affinity _ for it. Who can swim with it.”

When he looks back to you, there’s something unreadable in his tense expression. Something expectant.

“That is a Siren’s mark. Or perhaps you’d know it better by its man-given name... _ the Arcane Bond.” _

The book from before. The illustration inside and all it’s ramblings-  _ this  _ is what the author was talking about. The symbol in the example was different, however. Still in the same vein of visual design but unique on its own. You wonder if every Siren has their own mark. Or perhaps certain marks come to certain types of Sirens? Don’t get yourself wrong, you are still  _ very  _ unsettled and a bit shocked by all that’s happened in the past half hour. But you can’t deny the scientist in you that wants to learn more. Gain more knowledge. You want to know more about  _ him,  _ too.

“You called yourself an  _ Outsider _ before, what do you mean by that?” you recall suddenly, but when you blink to address him he’s already gone again.

“The Arcane Bond,” the Siren’s voice drawls from somewhere on either side of you at once, “it is a gift saved only for the most important of rituals and even more scarcely shown to humans.”

“Then why me?” You feel yourself asking before you can stop the words. They tumble out of cold lips and into the singing air around you. The mark flares on your hand, and you can feel the world shift as your vision blurs.

“Because,” the Siren answers, “you’ve gained my interest.”

~~~

You’ve been feeling overwhelmed all damn day.

For one, your mind has been running itself in circles since the moment you found yourself waking up in bed last night. After your trip to the Void with the Siren, you seemed to blackout and appear back in your upstairs bedroom. How you got there is beyond yourself, although you have a single foggy memory of walking up the main stairwell in a tired trance. At the time you had immediately assumed it to be a dream- or some sort of anxiety-induced nightmare. Yet, your conversation had felt so  _ real _ . And with one look down at your left hand, all was confirmed. The mark was still there, although the magic that seemed to pulse from it was now dormant. Back to being just a normal tattoo.

You had half a mind to storm back downstairs and pester him for more questions but your anxiety stopped you from doing so. He explained what needed to be in the moment, right? And it’s not like he’s going anywhere anytime soon...plus some time to process all of this might be best for your psyche.

Try as you may, you couldn’t get any real sleep. Your night was filled with fitful dreams. Visions of the Void and memories you’ve tried so hard to forget. You had no control of the stream of nightmares. You could only watch and listen as the invisible strings pulled and prodded at the fragile pieces of your mind-

_ “-you even listening to me?” _ Emily sighs, pinning you from across the meeting room table. You jump under her gaze.

She raises a brow at your reaction but doesn’t comment on it, “I really need your help with this script if we have any chance of deflecting all this heat from the media.”

“Right sorry,” you shake your head and lean forward to look down at the documents in question.

You came in early with Emily to get a head start on preparation for this week’s conference. There’s a lot riding on how well Empire Industries can present itself and the case for the whales. If you slip up or the truth of the virus comes into light, there would be mass panic. Not to mention the Abbey would have a field day with the aftermath.

“Have you always worn gloves to work?” Emily asks out of the blue, one hand sorting through papers while the other holds up her chin.

You swallow nervously, “Oh, I’ve been getting used to wearing them when in the lab...just easier to keep them on if I’ll be called back in 5 minutes anyway.”

While that isn’t a lie- your duties in the research and rehabilitation lab have become more demanding as of late- the gloves are actually quite uncomfortable. They’re made of thick, white elastic for the sake of protecting your skin from any traces of the virus, but hardly a pain to take on and off. No, you’re much more worried about hiding the new magical mark on your hand. It’s unlikely Emily or anyone else would recognize the strange tattoo- but it’s also about the fact that you would have to explain  _ when  _ and  _ why  _ you chose to get a random tattoo on the back of your hand. That’s some bold real estate in terms of body art, and far too suspicious when contrasted with your reserved personality.

Thankfully Emily has already moved on, satisfied with your answer as she shuffles a stapled document and passes it your way.

“Would you read over these?” She mumbles distractedly, gaze never leaving her own work for long, “I need you to double check the phrasing.”

You hum in affirmative and sink back into your chair with a deep sigh.

There’s a beat of silence, and Emily spares you a curious look, “Tired today?”

You scoff, “When are we  _ not  _ tired?”

Emily smiles stiffly, but before she can properly answer you the doors to the room click and slide open.

A young man with a briefcase, no more than three or so years older than yourself, steps into the room. He immediately offers a polite smile, the motion causing his eyes to squint up.

“Ah, hello President, Head Director,” he greets in kind, his voice smooth and thoughtful.

He whisks into the room just as confidently, and more of him is finally revealed to you. Eliot Fletcher, Director of Aquatic Biology. He’s certainly dressed the part, what with his spotless silver dress shirt and combed blonde hair. He wears glasses, ones with thin, purple frames. As he approaches you both on the other end of the table, he extends a hand, of which you take after only a moment of anxious hesitation.

“Director of Aquatic Biology,” you smile, taking his hand in a barely firm shake, “it’s great to finally meet you in person.”

He brightens immediately, silver eyes twinkling in satisfaction, “Yes, certainly better than blank, formal emails, you agree?”

“Mr. Fletcher,” Emily nods, rising to address him in a similar manner. She motions to the meeting table’s seats with a wave of her hand, “would you like any coffee or tea..? I appreciate you coming on short notice,”

Eliot waves his hand quickly, but sits a chair’s length away from you, “You’re the President here, Miss Kaldwin, there’s no need for such things. If you need me then I am at your beck and call.”

Once everyone has seated themselves, Emily does quick work of shuffling up her papers into neat piles, based on topic of interest. She then sighs calmly through her nose, placing her arms on the table to clasp her fingers together. She looks at you, nodding, “Would you fill in Mr. Fletcher, please?”

“Right…” you nod, forcing yourself to look up from your own hands, busy picking at your gloves in your lap.

You start out with the obvious. The whales out in the open sea and their sudden drives to beach themselves becoming more and more common. You describe your first day in the lab, of course retaining any needless information about your disrespectful staff, instead focusing on the discovery made that day. You pull out pictures from your and Emily’s pile of information. Confidential photographs of the affected areas of the whale as well as the accompanying charts full of notes and specifics.

This unknown virus starts out like a rash, typically collecting around the eyes of the whales before reaching outward. You point out the patterns specifically. Seemingly random in pattern, but inky and dangerous all the same. You don’t know all the specifics of what this disease  _ does _ exactly. You know it causes discomfort and internal pain for the whales, given their jerks and low, sorrowful groans to every touch and prod...but it doesn’t seem deadly yet. At least, there have been no corpses found in or outside of the lab. You just hope you’ve caught this early enough to act on it and find some sort of cure if not effective treatment.

All the while Eliot sits and listens attentively, taking rapid notes of his own on a notebook he took out of his briefcase. He doesn’t chime in at all until you’ve reached the end of your summary. His previously outgoing and polite personality has retreated somewhat. Replaced by unnerved interest. You can’t blame him- this is cause for real concern.

Sure, your society may not depend on whales and their volatile oil like they used to. If anything man owes it to these beautiful animals to do something and help. Make up for the hundreds of years of violence and death. Also, if this virus does end up spreading to humans...there’s no telling what would happen then.

You believe you learned about this concept back in college- in an elective course all about ethology. Humans have a duty to care for the planet and all it’s life, in return for the sentience it gave us. Some  _ galaxy-brain  _ type stuff really, but you agree with the sentiment all the same.

Or maybe your heart is just too big.

Eliot sits back in his seat, “This is quite the situation.”

“We appreciate any help your department can give this project,” Emily adds in, “and of course your discretion on the matter.”

The Director of Aquatic Biology is a sharp intelligent man, or so you’ve heard gossiped in the halls of the building. He’s smart enough to read between the lines you gather, from his reassuring nod.

“Of course, we’ll nip this at the bud before the public can even hear about it.” He smiles and reaches down into his briefcase. A moment later he extracts a carefully bundled booklet and slides it over to you and Emily.

It’s a collection of blueprints and refined sketches. Machines and equipment all related to anything and everything virus related. It’s advanced stuff beyond your studies, so while you can understand a few words at first glance, the specifics are lost to you.

“Now,” Eliot begins to respond properly, adjusting his glasses upward with a relaxed hand, “when you told me I’d be coming to a meeting about ‘ _ viruses and water-borne illness’  _ I wasn’t quite sure what we were dealing with...so excuse the massive amount of options I brought. Obviously we can narrow down all the options the Biology Department has to help study this.”

“Articulate as always, Mr. Fletcher,” Emily hums, too distracted in her quick overview of the catalog to notice his beaming grin.

“Organization and preparedness are two of the most important tools to a scientist, wouldn’t you agree, Head Director?” He finishes with a wink sent your way. Completely friendly, if not a little playful, it still urges a surprised blush from yourself.

You avert your eyes quickly, finding the catalog suddenly  _ very  _ interesting.

“The R-Research Department,” you begin, clearing your throat, “is equipped with a laboratory of our own but it’s used mostly for surface level tasks...a case like this might find more success in your department. With actual science…”

He nods along, gaze burning into the side of your head as you speak. You catch his polite smile and nod as he answers, “Naturally. Although I’m a little hurt you didn’t tell me about this sooner.”

“Apologies,” Emily finally raises her head, “but until late this virus simply wasn’t an issue. Now that it’s showing up in all the whales, however…” she shakes her head of darker thoughts, instead leaning a hand down to point at one of the plans listed under the section  _ Bloodwork Research _ . Emily calls your name, and leans into your vision, “-your team recorded the data, and it seems to be attached to the blood vessels..?”

“Y-yes,” you confirm, forcing yourself to sit up straight as you meet Eliot’s gaze once more. He exudes a calmness that you find nicely contagious. His kind expression urging you to relax somewhat, despite the fact you’re pretty sure he was just flirting with you.

“We believe that’s how it’s spreading. By attaching itself to the blood cells, the virus is able to spread across the body at an alarming rate...how it got there is still unknown. But perhaps if your team could take a closer look…”

“We might trace it back to the source,” Eliot finishes, tapping his chin thoughtfully. He hums and leans over the table to turn the page. It’s a diagram of various data- none of the numbers even vaguely familiar to you. Not quite your major.

“This is the type of equipment we’ll need. However there’s one last person we’ll need for this to work smoothly.”

Emily pauses then sighs, nodding understandingly,  _ “Beatrice Gray.” _

You blink between them, “The Director of Nautical Engineering?”

“Precisely,” Eliot exclaims positively, “Miss Gray keeps a tight hold on her department, given how important it is to Empire’s main source of income. After all, her inventions are-  _ quite literally-  _ the  _ cogs _ that keep Empire Industries running.”

“I’ll call her after this meeting and arrange a personal conversation.” Emily replies easily and writes down a note in the margin of her schedule beside her. The Director of Biology smiles accordingly, and mimics the CEO in his own personal notebook, “Brilliant idea. If the President comes to her she can’t say no, can she?”

You’ve never met the woman yourself but from Eliot’s half-hearted jabs combined with her reputation around the office, you know her to be a stubborn woman. Almost coldly so. She supposedly takes her work incredibly seriously and is a perfectionist in all she does. She’s a brilliant engineer, you know that much. Beatrice Gray is one of the mind’s responsible for Empire Industries’ rising credibility in this season of sales alone. From what little emails you’ve sent back and forth to one another, you know her to be overly formal. Distant, even.

You’re just glad it doesn’t have to be you to talk to her. If she’s as mean as some make her out to be, that’s a headache you’d rather avoid. And Eliot has a point; Emily has authority over her and therefore Beatrice will be much more polite.

You have  _ far  _ more troublesome things to worry about anyway.

...

...like apparently losing the key to your personal office. Well, the  _ extra, physical  _ key. You still have access with your key card and company ID, but the metal key is meant for emergency. In case the electric lock glitches and doesn’t work for some reason.

You have no idea how it happened. You’re usually so careful with these things.

You suppose with everything going on, you have been very distracted. Also, just last week there was an incident when you almost forgot your entire bag in the lab. You’re just a bit swamped right now. Mentally and physically.

It’s just about the end of the work day and you’re really looking forward to going home and prodding more answers out of your mysterious and slightly more ambiguous Siren friend.

But, you figure one last check for the missing key is in order. Maybe you just left it on your office desk? You wouldn’t put it past yourself. Besides, Emily has some last minute files to sign and organize and since you both drive together now, you figure you have a few minutes.

Dragging your feet from the research labs all the way up to the executive offices, you absentmindedly notice the lack of personnel in the hallways. It’s a little past six in the afternoon, so it isn’t too much a surprise. Most people start to go home at five pm, and those who do stay to work late confine themselves to their offices or lab spaces.

Regardless, the part of your brain that’s still throbbing from the day’s overabundance of information is thankful for the quiet.

Finally, you reach the door to your office, and it takes you a moment of tired fumbling before you realize the ID for the door’s electric lock is literally around your neck. Sighing in defeat, you grab the lanyard and raise it up so that the card held inside presses against the smooth black screen. There’s a brief flicker of a loading icon before the lock whirs to life and clicks open with a charming  _ ding! _

You push the door open and walk inside, eyes sweeping over any surfaces you can find for the missing key.

The space is unfortunately just as you left it. Clean and organized, almost completely untouched. As you’ve stated before, you don’t quite enjoy working in this room. It’s large for an office, of course, and while the chair and desk are cozy to sit at, there aren’t any windows beyond a simple skylight and you find the setup to be suffocating. Claustrophobic and devoid of personality. Perhaps if you really gave it some effort, you could get this place to your liking enough to use it more. You stick the notion on your mental backburner and push forth.

Walking around behind the desk, you swipe a hand over the polished wood. Humming thoughtfully you open the drawers, check under the seat, on the bookshelves just behind you- but you can’t find anything. Nervously, you start to worry your lip between your teeth, now double checking the space where you would normally toss your bag.

You’re more worried about Emily’s reaction when you tell her you lost such a thing. You can’t imagine she’d be that angry with you, but with everything as it is, security is a must at the moment. Especially for her and her business. You can get a replacement made, but then someone will have to come out and change the locks.

You sigh, standing up straight again with your hands stubbornly set on your hips.

Maybe you dropped it behind some of these dumb knickknacks on the shelf-?

Suddenly, your ears prick up at the distant sounds of muffled speaking. Hushed tones that, even through the walls, convey urgency. There’s a brief back and forth and then a giggle.

And they stop just outside your door.

Maybe it’s because you’d been on edge since last night, or the lack of sleep you got, or the stress of this virus, but you find yourself starting to grow increasingly anxious. Your heart stutters to life as the doorknob jingles beneath their hand. Checking to see if it’s locked most likely, which it does automatically unless unlocked manually from the inside.

After a pause of silence, there’s a rushed knock at the door. Three hard knocks.

You have no idea why, but the voice in the back of your head screams that this isn’t normal. If it had been a coworker looking for a moment of your time, they would have emailed you since you’re never in here, or come two hours ago. They also wouldn’t have just tried to barge in against the lock, unless they’re just incredibly rude.

So you bite your tongue and wait, frozen in place.

There’s a sigh of frustration before a familiarly smug voice passes through the door.

_ “Whatever, hand me that key?” _

That’s-

_ “Irene, are you sure about this?” _

There’s a scoff and the handle begins to jumble some more. You hear the tell-tale sounds of a key being pushed inside a lock, as well as Irene’s tell-tale smirk through the door.

_ “They deserve this, trust me,”  _ she hisses as she continues messing with the old mechanism,  _ “special fucking treatment, just because she sucks up to the Kaldwins.” _

That can’t  _ possibly  _ mean anything good for you.

You have approximately ten seconds before they walk in and see you. What do you do?! You could sit at the desk and make yourself look busy, but then it would appear as though you were deliberately ignoring them. You could give them your best glare and properly discipline them for breaking into your private work space, but Irene has  _ never  _ respected you. She stole the damn key to your office in the first place. No intention of hers could possibly be good.

You suddenly remember your past conversation with George in the hallway. The skittish intern had come out of hiding to warn you about Irene, hadn’t he?

_ “She was talking to two other interns...they were saying some mean things. Awful things- _

_ -About  _ **_you_ ** _.” _

You’ve never heard her talk so venomously before. So hateful. Even in just a few words, you were able to grasp the emotions and intent behind her actions.

What if they try to  _ hurt _ you?

It’s silly and overdramatic but you find yourself suddenly fearful. Pulse racing you can do nothing but stare wide eyed as the door clicks open and starts to slide in.

_ Do something! Anything! _

_ You have to hide! _

The only feasible place for someone of your height to conceal themselves is under the desk, but they could easily find you if they just walked around. Barricade the door? No- it’s too late-

Their steps come in, and your fear spikes-

  
  


_ But so does something else. _

  
  


It’s like your heart  _ pulses and burns _ . A liquid fire born from fear and anxiety that shoots through every cell in your body. Then a haze washes over you. A literal wall of static over your skin. Prickling warmly but never biting.

You hold your breath.

Irene and another intern you aren’t familiar with peek into the room. After only a moment’s hesitation, they stride in. Irene’s eyes land on your own and she smirks. Your heart hammers as you look down and see the offending key in her hand. She tucks it away and…

Moves over without a word.

“Come on, Edie,” she mutters impatiently, “and shut the door behind you.”

Edie walks in behind her and looks around blindly, completely missing you, before closing the door as asked. Irene looks off beside you with far too devious of a grin, “Alright, let’s leave them a nice message…”

When Irene starts to stalk toward you, you shrink back against the wall, words stuck in your throat. Pressed back as far as you can, you hold up your hands and wait.

  
  


But nothing comes.

  
  


“They might have something in here we could use-“ comes Irene’s impatient voice, “check in the drawers, anything to use as blackmail.”

Why...hasn’t she addressed you yet? You peek open your eyes and barely hold in a gasp. Stepping out of the way quickly, you miss Irene stalking past you. They start perusing through your belongings, turning things over and repeatedly almost walking into you almost as if…

You cautiously look down, and your eyes widen at what you  _ don’t  _ find.

Your body is glowing, at least the outline of it is. Inside where  _ you  _ should be is gone. Clear. Like a thin piece of glass.

The Siren’s mark on your hand glows faintly in time, and finally it sinks in.

  
  


_ You’re invisible. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay yes! We're finally here! The reader has been marked and is finally, truly face to face with the Outsider! Only more excitement and dangers, both seen and unseen, from here on out...✨ 
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos and lovely comments, as always~ I look back at them when I'm feeling creatively-blocked ❤️ and they mean a lot to me. See you next week!


	15. Affinity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // Warnings for this chapter: //  
> -In the very beginning there's a scene that includes mild violence, bullying, blood, and an anxiety attack...very mild and quick, however I felt it necessary to note here, just in case.
> 
> Enjoy another chapter as we jump right back into it...Irene has just broken into your office, and with a sudden burst of energy, you find yourself somehow invisible.

_\- You've finally tapped into it. The pool of ... whatever it is that powers the Siren, himself. Stuck, fearful and stunned, you can only watch in frustration as yet another safe space of yours is violated and destroyed. -_

Magic doesn’t feel like you thought it would.

There’s no sparkles or pretty lights. No sigils appearing on your skin or beneath your fingertips. No incantations stuck on your tongue. The Siren’s magic doesn’t even feel completely comfortable. It burns so cold it feels hot, and although it never causes you pain, the surges of energy beneath your skin seem to hover just over that precipice. Like if you pushed harder it _would_ hurt. Like blowing the top off of a pressurized bottle.

No, the power inside the mark lingers there, in the skin of your left hand, but spreads like outreaching hands. Like a burst of something that you can’t name but you instinctively know it’s not of this world. Like an IV the mark drips this energy into your veins, spreading it throughout your entire nervous system.

Despite the discomfort it brings you, you have to admit you’ve never felt so alive. So awake. Like being doused in frigid water but without the shock of it. Just the adrenaline.

So as you stand in the corner of your office, invisible and full of that energy, you can do nothing but gawk at yourself. You distantly wonder if this is how the Siren feels. If this is what happens when _he_ turns invisible.

Turning your transparent hands in the artificial light, the edges shimmer with something so dark it almost seems bright.

Not even Irene, the employee currently rooting through your desk for secrets and items of value, can see you, nor her accompanying friend. You believe she called her Edie? The poor girl stands on the other side of the room, brows crossed and expression hesitant, yet she mimics Irene anyway. Sifting through your bookshelves and tossing everything to the floor that isn’t of interest.

You have no idea what to do. Your heart is still hammering in your chest. The fear lingering almost painfully in your throat. You have no idea if speaking will also be cloaked and muffled by magic, so just to be safe you bite firmly down on your lip.

You barely contain a yelp of surprise as Irene growls and throws one of your paperweights across the room, putting a dent in the carefully carved wall trim. Edie jumps and spins around with wide eyes.

_“Sirens-_ Irene what is with you?!” she hisses, “someone will hear!”

Irene scoffs in response and takes everything on the shelf, pouring it onto the floor in one fell swoop. It crashes onto the wooden floor with a clatter and crunch. Books, folders, office supplies- everything gets tossed onto the ground and scattered.

Obviously, you _want_ to do something- they’re trashing your office but what do you do now? You can’t just appear in front of them. You can’t protect yourself- even with this mark you have no idea how to make offensive magic! You don’t even know how you turned invisible. You’ve never seen Irene act this aggressively before. Honestly, it’s frightening.

So you watch, frustratingly helpless and terrified as the two girls turn over and destroy your office.

“I can’t find anything other than these notes,” Edie hums aloud as she sifts through your filing cabinet, “but these are all public knowledge I think...judging by the labels…”

“Damn,” Irene answers, sitting at your now-cluttered-desk to try and make her way into your desktop computer.

Thankfully it’s locked up tight, and can’t be snuck into like your office with just a simple key. The password is company-issued and consisting of several numbers and letters. A random combination that upper staff like yourself are required to memorize for these such occasions.

After a few tries the system self-locks, shutting down the entire device. As expected, Irene makes an angered noise and stands up just as suddenly.

“Edie,“ she frowns and her accomplice stands to attention, “I was hoping for some dirt, but we’ve been here too long.”

As Edie gets up with a relieved sigh, Irene continues stalking about the room, making her way over to the door. She’s completely unfazed by the many crunches and cracks her shoes make as they step all over your things on the floor. At least, the shards and pieces of what _used_ to be your possessions.

“Come on,” Irene sighs as she sweeps a hand through her long, bleached hair, “I’ll just find what I need elsewhere. Besides, I think they’ll get the message just fine.”

Edie smirks lopsidedly, walking past you with a nervous laugh, “Stupid fucking _suck-up…_ but that was therapudic...I wish we could do this to Emily’s office, too!”

Irene scoffs, forcing the door open and glancing both ways before leading Edie out, “If she’ll make any _street rat_ her Director why not me? I mean, doesn’t she know who my father is?! And I’m stuck cleaning up whale shit.”

Edie chuckles and says something muffled by the now closed door. Their gossiping continues down the hallway. Hurried and sharp tones cutting your ears even through the walls until you’re left in thick silence.

The anxious pit in your stomach almost manages to distract you from the surge of pain that emanates from your hand. The magic quite literally fizzles out and as you finally let go of it’s invisible hand, you’re left feeling queasy and exhausted.

You’re not sure if the dizzying pain in your head and gut is from your Siren’s mark or the overwhelming anxiety of the situation, but whatever it is, it’s enough to force you to your knees. You take carefully measured breaths. In and out. Then try and decide your next course of action. The cold floor on your legs is somewhat welcome of a feeling. Grounding you.

Once the dizziness finally leaves and you can get yourself to stand on shaky legs, you survey the damages.

It’s like a hurricane whipped through your office. Papers and records previously organized now lay scattered and torn in separate corners of the room. Books from the shelf tossed this way and that, with pages sticking out haphazardly. Knickknacks and office supplies have been thrown and smashed, leaving sharp debris everywhere you step. Your heart hammers as you stand shaking with wide eyes. Mind completely blank.

You let out another shaky sigh and move to start cleaning up.

Because you don’t know what else to do.

~~~

In the end, you miss your ride with Emily. Over the phone you make up the excuse of extra work to be done in the lab, and only after an extra five minutes of begging does your adoptive sister finally give in. Not without compromising, however, that you’ll promise to get some sleep eventually tonight. You both need to be in top shape for the press conference tomorrow, after all.

Naturally you agree and, seemingly satisfied, Emily wishes you goodbye and you’re left to your devices.

You’ve gotten your office somewhat tidy again, but certain documents were simply too far damaged to be saved. So after a back-breaking hour of leaning over and inspecting each one, you end up with messy piles on the floor. Lab documents, company inventory, employee information, business partner agreements- it’s all around you in a chaotic mess. But at least you’ve made some sort of dent in it before nightfall.

You glance up at the clock across the room, the only thing that’s gone untouched, and sigh. You pull out your phone and begin typing in the contact of your personal driver. It’ll take him at least 10 minutes to get down to the lobby and bring the car around. Plenty of time to gather what you need to go home for the night.

You’ve stopped shaking for a while now. The anxiety and fear slowly trickle away before you’re just left mentally exhausted.

It’s petty workplace drama, and there’s no need to bring Emily or Corvo into this. That’s what you keep telling yourself over and over. You don’t entirely know why Irene hates you so much...but it’s her remark at the end that hurt the most.

_Street rat._

That’s a name you haven’t heard in quite some time. An era long left behind you...yet your past has always been right on your heels, hasn’t it? An inevitability. Your weakness.

No one should know that you grew up poor and basically homeless on the streets of lower Dunwall. Sure, you don’t look like Emily or Corvo or even Jessamine- but how could anyone question that? Most people simply assume you’re adopted or a cousin of Emily’s, but never has anyone found out about your unfortunate origins. There’s no denying that Irene _knows_ you grew up on the streets. But how? And why?

That’s probably what’s got you so upset. Upset enough to even distract you as you nearly collide with one of the Estate staff.

Cassandra, the Headmaid, startles to attention and you blink owlishly in turn. The drive back was really a blur. You barely remember getting out of the car and reaching the doors, yet here you are...about to receive her wrath no doubt.

She begins to address you in a firm, yet overly polite tone but halfway through opening her mouth she stops. Her eyes widen as she gasps, “What happened?”

“I...was just running late?” You begin to answer, confused, but Cassandra shakes her head.

“No no- your knees, hun, they’re all torn up.”

Sure enough, when you look down you find the fabric of your pants worn and poked through. When you became dizzy and fell to your knees you must have landed on some spare pieces of glass. Remnants of your collection of paperweights and picture frames on the shelf of your office wall. You can barely see through the little holes in your knees, but there are little pinpricks of red that leak through. You never even felt it. Mind too occupied and limbs numb with static.

You bite back a curse and try to make your way around Cassandra, “I just fell in the lab today...could you please have my dinner sent to the library? I have some documents to go over for the conference tomorrow.”

“You fell..?” The older woman echoes worriedly, too distracted to properly absorb your command, then shakes her head as she follows you into the Estate, “Forgive me, but I don’t think Miss Kaldwin or Mr. Attano will-“

“There you are!”

The Spirits really have it out for you today, it seems. You anxiously worry the skin of your lower lip as Emily speeds toward you from the hallway. Her eyes are narrowed before but upon seeing your and Cassandra’s worried expressions, Emily takes pause. Unlike the Headmaid, Emily Kaldwin has been trained to notice details, and it takes significantly less time for her gaze to drop to your legs.

Instead of shock, her narrowed look only tightens, but you beat her to the punch.

“I just fell in the lab today, it’s really fine-“

“You’re bleeding,” Emily retorts, and places a firm yet worried hand on your shoulder. In your nervous, overwhelmed state it burns even through the layers of your white lab coat.

Just as suddenly as the situation arose, Corvo’s face is suddenly peeking around the hunched shoulders of his daughter.

“What’s going on?”

As Emily turns to relay information you can’t help but grimace under their attention. You just need to be alone. You just need to _breathe_. This room is far too occupied- you don’t need to be mothered-! You’re a grown ass adult!

As if sensing your disgruntled reaction, Emily turns and pins you with a glare, “What did you fall on?”

You pout, fidgeting under their eyes, “Glass I think-“

_“By the Sirens-“_ Emily rolls her eyes and moves to grab your wrist. Anticipating this you step back and try to pretend you don’t feel guilty for her responding frown. In the next moment she recovers, however, and follows you with a stern look.

Still stubbornly glaring into your own eyes, Emily addresses the older Headmaid, “Cassandra, have the first aid brought up to my quarters, along with some warm towels.”

Cassandra bows her head deeply, “Yes, m'lady.” She turns and snaps her fingers with an echoing _crack!_ Two housekeeping staff (who you just now realize had been nosily peeking around the hallway) startle to attention as they push and file themselves into the room. They bow in turn, and listen as Cassandra lists off the various things to fetch and prepare.

You don’t get to listen long, because Emily is ushering you up the stairs, followed by an ever-stoic Corvo.

~~~

Long after your uncomfortable encounter with Emily in the entryway, and even longer still after being prodded and poked for answers do your knees ache. Maybe it’s still the stress of the day bearing down on the joints or the ghost pains of glass shards being expertly pulled out by Corvo’s tweezers, but they itch like hell. The skin beneath the fabric of your now-ruined work pants had been worse than you thought. Somehow you had blocked out the pain of falling on the debris in your office. However now, after being cleaned and bandaged, the nerves have finally returned to you. Causing you terrible discomfort as the numerous tiny slices sow themselves back together.

But nothing hurt quite like lying to your family.

You can’t help but replay the scene back in your head, long into the night after all the staff have left and the permanent residents have gone to bed. You lift a hand and sigh as the Kaldwin crest atop your ring glints in the moonlight. Even over the clicks and whirrs of the vault door lock does your previous conversation ring clear in your mind.

…

_You’ve changed into some athletic shorts and t-shirt, and now are sitting atop the master bathroom’s marble countertop. It’s normally a spacious room, however the air is tense and filled with a suffocating silence. Save only for the rhythmic ‘tink!’s of glass pieces as they’re dropped into the metal bowl next to you. You flinch on occasion, despite how careful Corvo is being. As if he’s done this several times before, which you distantly find strange. Sure, you and Emily have gotten yourselves into trouble in your years of youth, but there’s a strange quality to his movements. Precise and methodical._

_It’s making you nauseous, watching as the metal tweezers pull shards from your skin- but it’s either that or meet the intensely suspicious eyes of Emily across the room._

_Surprisingly, it is Corvo who breaks the silence. Grumbling as he works, “How’d this happen?”_

_“I told you,” you swallow, gloved hands picking at each other, “I fell on some glass in the lab today…”_

_His brow crinkles a bit, as a scowl takes place on his expression but he doesn’t look up, “Most people notice when they fall on glass,”_

_“It was an intern,” you blurt and wave a hand to express faux-annoyance. Technically not a lie, but not the full truth either. “It was an accident-“ you excuse, trying desperately not to think of how angry Irene was. How violently she threw your things around without a care for the consequences. “-and in the moment it surprised me and I fell onto my knees.”_

_Emily sighs across the room and pushes off the wall to walk over. She doesn’t yell, or accuse you of lying...she just fixes you in place with a firm look, “I knew you could be a clutz, but this is a bit much…” she spares a comforting smile, “next time don’t be afraid to ask for help, okay?”_

_You smile, and it takes every fiber of your being not to flinch as the last large piece of glass is pulled from your knee. As you lie to the people you trust most in this world._

_They fell for it, and that realization makes you feel terrible._

_…_

The press conference is tomorrow, and you need an hour or two to review your script and get some proper rest. That’s the excuse you give to Emily and Corvo who agree and return to their own quarters for similar reasons. While you plan on doing that, obviously, there’s something else you need first.

As he’s started doing more and more in the past few days, the Siren appears as soon as the door shuts behind you. If it wasn’t for the blank look on his face, you might take his impatient swimming and intense looks for excitement. With a swish of his long, winding tail, he pushes up to the glass closest to you. Unflinching as you approach with a no doubt troubled- yet determined- expression.

For a long moment, you simply address one another. Silent thoughts exchanged through curious glances and subtle, nearly missable, facial tics. 

You’ve been thinking about him- rather about his _mark_ all damn day. Especially after the incident in your office. He had left you with more questions than answers last night and you’ve been collecting them slowly until this very moment.

Yet you feel like you’ve drawn a total blank…

“I turned invisible today,” you offer, casually. Recognition settles over his features and you see a flicker or something else you’re unfamiliar with.

He hums lightly, black, unblinking eyes flashing over your form, “I saw.” When he speaks it’s quiet but not because of the inch and a half of glass between you. No, you can hear him clear as day in your head. His lips move and form the words, while his voice has its signature hollow echo.

“You _saw?”_ You ask, arms crossing nervously as he inspects you unabashedly. Gaze lingering at the bandages over your knees.

His tail flicks back and forth as he nods, “The half that can, yes,”

Despite yourself you feel the string of frustration. What the fuck does that even mean?! Despite now being able to speak and communicate verbally, he’s never been so confusing and unnecessarily ominous.

Yet, he’s already moving on- verbally and literally- as he kicks off and begins pacing inside the tank. Well, as close to _pacing_ as he can get with his tail and lack of legs.

When he speaks next, it’s your name. Light and airy on his tongue. Curiously foreign yet oh so smooth when it reaches your ears.

“...you interest me. Born from nothing yet always reaching for _something_ .” Next time he circles around, his eyes flicker up and seek yours, easily halting any words of annoyance that threaten to come through and interrupt him. “You are _insatiable_ . Hungry for what the world has to offer you and now…” he stops and turns mid-lap, tilting his head at you with an unreadable expression, “you have a hand in a whole _new_ world. One that few men have ever seen, much less truly understood.”

You don’t know why but you find yourself chasing him. Walking closer and closer as he speaks until your nose is almost flush with the glass wall. If you concentrate hard enough you can almost feel the pull. You wonder if this is just another effect of his magic, or your own (in his own words _insatiable)_ curiosity.

“Tell me about it, this...mark.” You find yourself asking as you carefully raise your hands and remove the gloves. They’ve been on nearly all damn day, so they stick to your skin uncomfortably. Leaving behind a thin layer of sweat that you quickly wipe over your shirt. Your eyes cach on the unique and intricate symbol etched over the back of your hand. You haven’t had it for too long yet, so there’s so much you don't know...you deserve a little bit more of an explanation. Maybe even some guidance. After all, why would he give you something like this if he doesn’t want _something_ in return?

“As I’ve told you,” he starts again, clicking his tongue thoughtfully, “it’s the mark of the Outsider. _My mark.”_

“I get that,” you roll your eyes, “but what is it for...what does it do?”

“I don’t think you do,” the Siren thinks out loud , addressing- presumably- your first comment. “You seem to be a sharp human. You tell me.”

You stare back at him blankly but after a heavy moment you sigh in defeat. He’s really not budging on this one. Well, fine. If this is the game he wants to play, so be it. You _are_ a scientist. Logical deduction is only one tool in your arsenal. Maybe you can use this opportunity to impress him. 

Sinking into your role, you take a moment to think and gather what you _do_ know. You start with the obvious.

“Last night you mentioned something about abilities,” you begin slowly, “and today when I was stressed something happened. I...I turned invisible. Is this one of those abilities you mentioned?” He nods once and your eyes widen slightly, “So I could do other stuff, too? Like how we’ve been able to suddenly communicate?”

Again, he nods. Tail curling beneath him as he simply hovers there, arms crossed and stoic as ever. Instead of discouragement, you almost feel renewed. Like you’ve been faced with a proper challenge. A whole new field to study and learn.

“So this _mark_ , the Arcane Bond, I’m assuming works somewhat like a funnel. Taking powers I know you have-“ you point an accusatory finger before beginning to pace absentmindedly yourself, “-and sharing it with me. So, by extension I could do all the things you can do, correct?”

“Yes and no,” he shrugs, “a Leviathan’s mark can channel the Void itself. Being an unpredictable and mysterious force, it takes a variety of forms within its host…” the merman pauses, tilting his head away to stare up at the artificial lights in the ceiling, “I imagine you are no different, despite being a human. Not all your gifts will manifest passively.”

You nod, numbly, mind racing despite the sluggishness you feel in your bones. _Passive_ implies that there’s an _active_ counterpart _._ Just what the hell could that mean? The only times the Siren has ever acted out in such a way is when he warded you and the others off with that terrible screech. The worst that had ever done was give you world-rocking migraines...but given what you’ve learned since then and what he just told you, maybe there’s more things you could do. You can’t help but think of Irene and Edie breaking into your office. But not just that. All the times you’ve been too afraid to do something. To protect yourself…

You mentally shake your head at such thoughts. That’s a rabbit hole you’d rather not fall down. You aren’t a violent person...you don’t know the first thing about magic...but what if you could learn?

“It all depends on the path you choose,” he muses aloud, as if reading your thoughts. You imagine your face says it all.

But he still hasn’t given you a straight answer.

“Why did you mark me?” You ask in a quiet voice.

He tilts his head at you, “I told you last night. You interest me.”

You huff, “Then why not Corvo? Or Emily? They’re the heads of the company I’m just- I’m just the-!”

_Streetrat. Waste. Disappointment. Doormat._

You bite your tongue, words stuck in your throat like vile. It stings behind your eyes and this time you do turn away from him. You break the tension sitting between you and focus instead on counting the cracks in the far wall. Anything to stop yourself from saying something _completely_ pathetic.

His voice reaches your ears. Echoing even through the glass, and even across the room.

“I don’t _want_ them.”

Despite yourself you flush crimson. You know he can’t see your expression, but a hand comes up to hide your face regardless. You sigh deeply through your nose...obviously he doesn’t mean it like _that_ , but by the Spirits that was terrible phrasing on his part. 

“They aren’t important yet,” he speaks up again, clarifying in a soft voice, “and besides…” he hums thoughtfully and you try desperately to ignore the burning in the back of your head. As he inspects you for even the slightest of movements. Tells in your brave facade.

“...you’re the one who had the gall to ask me for it.”

It’s the coyness in his tone that has you spinning with wide eyes.

But instead of the five feet you’ve put between yourself and the tank, there he is. No more than a foot away from you with a curious smirk. Frozen in place you barely register the change in environment. The remnants of sparks leaving your left hand. Power thrumming away until it's at a low, barely noticeable hum beneath your skin. In the Void, the Siren is able to move about much more freely. Circling around you as if you’re underwater, and echoing even further. Like his voice isn’t just coming from _him_ \- it’s a part of the _Void_ , too.

So it has to be the supernatural lilt to his voice that sends a shiver down your spine. It has to be.

“You asked, and after some thought...I agreed,” he mutters, black eyes blinking slowly, absentmindedly. “A mutually beneficial trade.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” you begin carefully, watching with bated breath for an angry response that never comes. He only continues to gaze into you curiously. Eagerly. _Expectantly._ Up to you to finish his puzzle once more...

Unless he means...the _Arcane Bond?_ Your thoughts dart back to that book. The old tome that seemed to just be fanatical fantasy. You had shared it with him without thinking. Grasping for straws when you became frustrated over the language barrier. The author had mentioned that a human with a Siren’s bond could speak the language of Leviathans...but you never knew it was this intricate. That it came with so many other powers and potential. Just what is the true nature of it?

Instead of shying away as you normally do, you can’t help but step closer, even if only an inch.

“That book,” you start, “it was right. To an extent.”

“Yes,” he confirms, but comments no more. That’s fine, you’re content to fill the silence with your own thoughts and theories. He’ll chime in when he’s ready or deems an idea worth further elaboration.

You lift your left hand and inspect the mark inked over the back, “I didn’t know what it was, if that makes you feel better…” When you look back up, you find the Siren staring down still, at the mark. He cocks his head slightly, frown pulling taut.

“I mean, when I first proposed it… _asked_ for it, as _you_ seem to remember,” you ramble, barely containing your surprised expression as he raises a hand and carefully touches the top of your own. He traces the symbol with an ever blank look on his face. Completely unreadable. He’s touched you only once before, when he first pulled you into the Void but that was fleeting. You had been obviously distracted and didn’t give it any other thought. Now, however, his movements aren’t rushed or methodical. It’s aimless, the way he drags the tips of his fingers over the back of your hand. Ghosts of touch, but real all the same. His skin is cold, but not deathly so. Chilled. But...soft. You had expected something...you don’t know- scaley? His fingers are webbed, yes, but other than that they appear and feel entirely human-like. Thin and almost boney.

You force your eyes back down, watching and muttering on nervously as he continues tracing your hand. Adding more and more curious pressure as time moves forward.

“Well for me, I just needed to talk to you. Explain that I meant you no harm...I...I just didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Offend me?” He echos, distractedly. As if hearing you from a distance.

You blink up at him, but find your eyes pulled back to your hand in the same moment, occupied yourself as he takes your hand in his own. He grasps it gently and brings it up more properly into the dull light. Beneath the skin, your magic flares in response. Either at his touch or your own elevated thoughts, who’s to say.

“You disappeared,” you clarify, willing your hand to stay still as a stone in his grasp- despite your speeding heartbeat, “in a cloud of those...shards and _electricity.”_

Something clicks in his head, and the Siren’s frown deepens. With some hesitance, he drops your hand and hovers back away from you slowly. “You make a bad habit of overthinking,” he hums, crossing his arms back over his chest, “I thought you already remedied that?” He motions to his wrist with a nudge of his arm, showcasing the leather band you bought him from the market.

“Sure,” you nod, hands clasping together as you will the lingering distracting thoughts from your mind- try to stop yourself from feeling disappointed at the loss of contact- “but I’ve never seen you lash out like that...why did it make you so angry?” You can connect the dots and assume it’s some sort of Siren thing. Maybe they just don’t trust humans and giving them magic is considered taboo? Regardless, it would be nice to hear his confirmation on this...even if it ends up irritating him all over again.

However, the Siren doesn’t scowl or back away. His chest rises slowly in a breath that when he lets out, takes all the tension in his body with it. He visibly relaxes to the point where he’s back to his typical emotionless self. Then, he disappears in a gust of black smoke and shards. Dispersing around the black, crystalline island you find yourself stranded on.

_“That event tomorrow,”_ he echos around you, tone bored as ever, _“didn’t you want to ask me something beforehand?”_

You shiver as a particularly sharp wisp of wind grazes the back of your neck and the sides of your exposed arms and legs.

“I’m beginning to think Sirens can read minds…” you huff, turning and looking around for him anyway, “most consider that a breach of privacy, you know.”

He chuckles somewhere far off, voice further away, _“Humans are easy to read. They all want the same things…”_ but the words are curt on his tongue.

There’s a pause, and then the Void changes.

The island of rock you’re standing on shifts slightly. Jutting rocks move and click into place. Glitching and rapidly forming jagged steps up to another island. Beyond that, more shards of rock begin to move, forming a precarious path.

_“Find me,”_ his voice reaches you once again, but he’s further away now. You have to strain just to make out the words properly, _“and I’ll tell you about the whales.”_

Now _that_ gets your attention. Finally, after all the failed attempts at research, pouring over books, and struggling to bond with the Siren, you might get a lead on the virus! You will admit, his games are starting to annoy you, but if this is what it takes to get a straight answer from him, well…

You’re willing to play a little longer. For answers.

_‘I’m starting to feel more and more like his babysitter,’_ you think irritably, as you approach the rocky steps upward.

You heave yourself up and carefully avoid anything that could scrape your bandaged knees, until you reach the flat top. The islands are cold and smooth. Certain edges sharpened like razors. One wrong step and you’d fall to the abyss of the Void itself. Thinking this, you can’t help but peek over the edge. Indeed, this place is seemingly bottomless. Spread out as far as you can see there are islands and even floating pools of black ocean, but beyond that it’s _infinite._

As you make the short hope onto the next rock in your path, you begin to notice something. Just like the last time you were here, your mark is humming with energy. Like a battery that’s been recharged. It sits atop your hand, in your skin, waiting to be used. And as you look out and realize that not all the jumps will be feasible, you begin to wonder if that’s what he wants you to do. The Siren mentioned you have other abilities locked away. Powers that can be brought forward through the use of the arcane bond. Maybe you could...pull a path forward? Or teleport? Spirits, your head is spinning in uncertainty. To say that this is out of your comfort zone would be an understatement…

Well, there’s only one way to find out.

You lift your left hand and try to focus on that humming in your bones. You try to remember what it felt like when you turned invisible. The drops of magic turning in your blood and nearly causing it to boil. In that moment what did you feel? Fear and anxiety mostly, but surely you don't have to force yourself to have a panic attack every time you want to use magic?

Huffing in frustration, you momentarily give up on forcing the magic and instead lean on what you do know. _Logic._

The next rock in your path is elevated slightly anf over a gap that makes your knees a little weak. You might be able to make that jump, but you’d still have to climb your way up. It’s not a steep climb by any means, but it’s the idea of what waits below you that frightens you.

You can’t just give up, though. You have to try. Those whales are suffering and you’ll be damned if you’re stopped by a fear of heights, of all things. The Siren may be a cryptic man, but he hasn’t lied to you yet. On the contrary, he almost seems too blunt at times. So when he says that he’ll reward you with information you have to believe him.

And if he’s joking, and this is all some elaborate prank to entertain himself…well then you’ll really give him a piece of your mind.

You back up a few steps in preparation, pressing back and forth on your already sore heels. Warming them for the strain they’re about to withstand. As soon as you double check over the footholds you see in your target, you sprint. With what little space you have, you gain as much speed as possible all until the rock leaves your feet and your stomach turns over in the air.

It’s that feeling you get when you miss a stair. The fear as your heart drops to your feet.

Then the moment is over and you collide with the other island. You wheeze unceremoniously at the impact against your chest, but your adrenaline-fueled hands scramble for purchase. Ignoring the burn in your lungs, you heft yourself up until you’ve rolled onto your knees. Breathing heavily you wince as the pressure sits uncomfortably on your bandages. Despite the strain you force yourself up, and thankfully there doesn’t seem to be any blood.

But then the scene changes. You’re still there, but the islands ahead of you shift and move. The distances between them grow, and any extra rock cracks and slides off into the Void below.

_“That’s cheating,”_ the Siren chides from somewhere ahead. Sounding both bored and teasing at once.

“By the Spirits,” you curse under your breath as you glare around you, “you’ve got to be kidding me. I can’t make that jump!”

Of course, there’s no response. You scoff and mull over your next move. You’re still headed towards where you think his voice is coming from. Luckily the closest island to you is in that direction as well...however it’s too far away now. Even if you did jump far enough, you’d have to climb your way up and you're not very confident in your physical strength for that sort of thing. Yet he must know this. You have a distinct feeling that he’s testing you somehow. Trying to urge a specific reaction from you. You look down to your hand again in thought. His mark stares back up at you. Stark even against your skin.

He must want you to use magic, but for what reason? All you can do is turn invisible. That won’t help you scale four feet of jagged, 90 degree rock. You’ll slice up your hands trying. It doesn’t make logical sense. No, this must be purposeful. He must be asking for something from you. Maybe if you try a little harder; focus more intently.

Maybe you just have to trust him, even if only a little bit. Even if it's not trusting in _him,_ perhaps simply in his _guidance_.

He hasn’t lied to you yet, after all.

So it is with this nervous, shaky thought that you back up on the island you’re standing on. Clenching your left fist tight, you call back on that feeling. You listen closely. Straining every cell in your body to try and capture it.

And you _can_ hear a distant song. A faint thrumming. A vibration on the wind.

Then, you’re jumping before you fully realize it.

Mid way through your arch, the fear spikes and with a single thump of your heart, that anxiety-induced burning returns.

It shoots up your left arm, mingling with the pain of obsidian rock meeting soft flesh.

Blood thrumming through your ears, you scramble for purchase. Cringing with each slice of pain to your palms and fingertips. But you realize with a frightened gasp that you’re _slipping_.

Cursing, you grit your teeth and allow the pain in your lungs and chest to nearly consume you.

Your right hand jolts and slips, and with the last piece of your instinct in control, you slam down your left hand.

But everything stops. As if the Void itself has held its breath. You open your eyes- not quite remembering when you shut them- you find yourself dangling from one hand.

A crystalline, black hand.

Dark rock, just like those islands that float around in this strange place, has grown around your fingertips and climbed up in jagged strokes across your left arm. The pain of your strained fingers has been numbed. Left behind is the cold burn of the mark, which thrums on somewhere deep within.

Yet, just as you feel a shred of calm hope wash over you, the rock begins to recede. Vibrating and dissolving, the black stone retreats back into your mark. To your horror, you can even begin to feel the material of the cliff face itself tearing away with it- as well as the tendons in your arm quickly giving away to white hot pain.

_“No-!”_ You cry, the sound coming out quick and mangled as you try to reach up, but you’re _falling_.

But not for any longer than a gasp.

From above you, a familiar pale form manifests. The Siren shimmers into existence, a firm, chilled hand holding firm to your wrist. He regards your no doubt horrified expression with a contrasting smirk. It’s barely there, but you can see the smug shine in his eyes as you grab at his arm in an attempt to save yourself, should he drop you.

With a surprising amount of ease, the Siren lifts you and drops you both off on the island. Immediately you let out a huge breath, lungs struggling to keep calm. Your eyes dart down to your arm in his grasp, which he still hasn’t released. He tilts your arm and gazes at the mark with the same curiosity as before. However this time there’s a flicker of something in his black eyes. Something you can’t identify. Whatever he’s feeling, it seems to sour his mood. The smugness from before vanishes and is left with a neutral frown, bordering on distaste. Maybe even discomfort? Although you can’t ever be sure with him.

After a long moment, he releases you. Slowly he pulls away, dragging his fingertips along your arm as he does so. There’s a sort of hesitance to it. Like you’re some sort of foreign creature, and this is the first time he’s ever touched another person. Yet, he’s known other Sirens, hasn’t he? You’re sure he has a family somewhere. So why does he handle you like that? As if you might break and cut him?

“You’ve inherited a natural _affinity_ for the Void,” he whispers somewhat harshly, a contrast to his prior gesture. He floats back and away from you, “but lack the sturdy hands to wield it.”

You still can’t find the words to speak. This is the second time today that you’ve been caught scared shitless. Thankfully, he’s still talking.

He spares you a wan smile, black eyes meeting your own so that you can’t pull away, “You found me, so I’ll tell you…”

  
  
  


“About the whales and their beloved Leviathans.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I //love// writing about magic and trying to imagine then put into words what it would feel like to be used. There's one description of the outsider's mark where Emily describes it as "burning from the inside" and that's been one of my base inspirations when trying to guesstimate what it would feel like for the Reader...
> 
> That being said, I hope it's a mystical enough starting point, because invisibility is only the first of the Reader's many talents  
> 👀 But I won't spoil anything specific, you'll have to wait for those future chapters~


	16. Press Conference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter:  
> \- Panic attack from the perspective of the reader
> 
> If you have trouble reading about, or may be triggered by, depictions of anxiety/panic attacks please take caution if you choose to read this chapter <3 take care of yourselves loves, and I hope you enjoy the new update! It's a big one in terms of plot development....

_-The press conference is finally here...the Abbey of the Everyman suspects Empire Industries of heresy, and it's up to you to keep the nation from panicking. You hate lying like this...especially when the truth of the matter is so much worse than you ever had guessed.-_

You feel suffocated. By your thoughts, by the muffled clamor of the crowd, and by your infuriatingly tight and formal business attire; it all does nothing to soothe your bounding heartbeat. In the process of last-minute preparations, you completely skipped out on breakfast or your morning coffee, leaving you somewhat lightheaded. It’s small enough of a feeling that you can brush off and ignore, but it certainly isn’t helping to keep your head clear. There are footsteps to your left, just out of sight from where you sit with your head in your hands. They come up to you and then stop, and there’s a deep sigh.

“You alright, kid?” Corvo asks, and you take in a long, cool breath.

You get up slowly in the next moment, leaning over only briefly to grab your company-issued tablet and script for today’s press conference, “Just resting my eyes.”

He doesn’t answer verbally, instead of moving a hand to rest on your shoulder. His dark eyes are hard and focused when they meet yours, “you’re ready, just say what we practiced. They’re in no position to argue,”

“And if they try?”

He frowns, “Then we’ll step in.”

You know he means well, but the Abbey of the Everyman is not to be taken so lightly. Their influence is broad as it is deeply embedded in society. Those of the population who  _ do  _ follow them and their outdated strictures  _ will  _ take their word for it, should they accuse Empire Industries of treason. Or worse,  _ heresy. _

Seeing your trepidation, Corvo pins you in place with a scowl. His hands rise to brush off any hairs from your jacket-clad shoulders, even fixing the collar which has gone askew from your light nap/pity-party.

“The Abbey,” he grumbles, “has no foundations for any claims. We’re the ones people turn to for answers on this sort of thing, not the church.” You nod along, complacent as he absentmindedly fathers you. Corvo isn’t a man to lose his composure- not visibly anyway. However, it wouldn’t be a far off guess to assume he expresses stress in other ways. Like pulling the collar of your embroidered vest one button  _ too  _ tight, for example.

“Five minutes!” Someone calls from a few paces away, on the other side of the stage. Your heart nearly drops from your chest. Corvo sighs and steps back, but not without one last reassuring squeeze to your shoulder.

“We’ll be right there with you,” he adds as Emily turns the corner ahead and hurries over to you both, “you’re not alone in this.”

“Obviously,” Emily sighs, having picked up the final parts of your conversation you assume, “but remember, the press doesn’t care for anything other than exaggerated tabloid drama and the Abbey’s accusations are completely baseless,”

“Right, right,” you mutter, rolling your eyes.

“I mean it,” she presses, standing tall as she narrows her eyes at you, “they can’t touch you.”

_ ‘But they can say whatever they like, can’t they?’  _ You think bitterly, already imagining just how far south this event could go.

You cast one last pleading look to Emily, “Are you sure you can’t just do it? They respect you,”

“They’ll respect you, too, if they know what’s good for them,” she rebuttals, and shakes her head, “we’ve gone over this. It has to be you. You’re the Head Director of Marine Research.”

She says it so easily. As if those magic words will make anyone gape and awe in your presence, but people don’t work like that. Irene certainly doesn’t give a shit. The media  _ definitely  _ won’t. And the Abbey? Well, you pray to the Spirits that they will, if not anyone else. They’re the ones with the power who need convincing here. Not the people.

“Are you ready?” She asks you.

You take in a slow breath and blow it out. You look down at the tablet in your gloved hands and double-check that the script is down there in front of you. Everything’s in place. Everything is ready.

“Let’s get this over with.”

Nodding, Emily grabs your hand, giving it a squeeze as you both make your way around to the stairs. Corvo trails behind, readjusting his tie one last time. The stage manager looks up and motions toward another across the makeshift stage. They exchange thumbs up...and then it’s your turn.

As soon as you begin to ascend the steps, cameras begin to snap and crack to life. Bright flashes blind you as you clutch to your tablet for dear life. Just as you rehearsed, Emily takes smooth steps to the microphone podium, while Corvo and yourself stand a pace and half behind her. The crowd of the press in the hall stand all at once, shuffling about to get their questions answered first, but Emily raises a single hand to silence them.

“Good afternoon, Dunwall,” she begins, a sweet smile rising even as the Overseers join you from the other side of the stage.

High Overseer Khulan, who has taken off his mask for the event, sends a stiff, yet polite, smile towards your side. You return it just as uncomfortably, nearly flinching when you drift over and meet the eyes of his accompanying partner. A shorter man with a narrowed, disgusted scowl that only makes him look that much older. When you glance down and find his Overseer’s mask clipped to his belt, you can’t help but be inwardly amused at the resemblance. This man hardly needs to wear one of those scornful masks at all if the very same expression is carved deep into his own face. You try to smile but the man pointedly ignores you, standing tall with his hands behind his back beside a much more collected Khulan.

“That’s  _ Hadwin Alcott,” _ Corvo whispers beside you. He isn’t looking over at the two representatives of the Abbey, but not much slips past him, “right hand to Yul, despite their contrasting personalities...He’s more likely to give us trouble.”

You hum in affirmative, too afraid to break your rigid posture and nod. You  _ really  _ don’t like Overseers, especially now more than ever. Absentmindedly you place your right hand over the marked left one as if that’ll keep it hidden even behind the formal white gloves you’ve become accustomed to wearing. You’ve heard the rumors of Overseers picking witches out from crowds and sensing black magic from blocks away. You’ve dismissed the notion as pure bullshit; a silly scare tactic. But that was before you found out that magic and Void are  _ real _ . Before you felt it yourself- the rush of power through rune and bone. It only occurs to you at this very moment that now, more than ever, do you have a  _ very _ good reason to stay away from the men of the Abbey.

Ironic that Empire Industries was about to go on record denying magic in their practice when the Head Director is a heretic themself. As if you needed another excuse to be anxious today. A cruel joke of the universe.

_ Absolutely fucking hilarious. _

“Thank you for coming today,” Emily continues, nodding towards Khulan and Alcott, “on behalf of Empire Industries I, the CEO, am joined by my Vice and Chief Operations Officer,” she lifts an elegant hand towards her father, “Corvo Attano, as well as the Head Director of Marine Research,” and she motions your way, introducing you as well.

“Any analytics or biology-based questions will be answered by them.”

You try not to shrink away as you imagine all the eyes roaming your form, picking for little details or cues. Instead, you recall your rushed social-training with Emily and follow her example.

_ “Stand tall, keep your chin up and arms still. Don’t tap your feet or lose composure. No matter what, you are in charge.” _

Easy for her to say, being raised on such lessons in business warfare. You don’t share the same upbringing, so your few weeks in experience pale in comparison to her lifetime of fieldwork. But you do it anyway, and level your chin with your shoulders, just as Jessamine taught Emily and now how Emily taught you.

“Wonderful to see you again,” The High Overseer chimes in from across the stage at his podium, “although I admit I wish it were under less  _ stressful  _ circumstances…” There’s a small collection of amused huffs and chuckles before it dies back down to silence, filled only by the sparse  _ clicks  _ of cameras.

“Today I hope we can come to a mutual understanding, and clear up any needless drama before it comes to a head.”

Sighing quietly, Emily nods, “I completely agree, High Overseer. The Abbey has long had a presence in our city and we deeply respect our past partnerships.”

He returns the smile although the lines around it are stressed and pulled tautly. His entire body is rigid and uncomfortable looking. Some distant voice in your mind wonders if he’s upset over the circumstances or if he simply hates crowds as much as you do. If that is the case, you certainly recognize the quick and anxious taps of his gloved fingers against the podium.

“Precisely,” he mutters, then clears his throat as he speaks up once more, “as head and representative of the Abbey of the Everyman, I’ll start this off, and then we can move onto questions from the people...”

Motioning to Overseer Alcott, the shorter man snaps to attention, bringing out a neat bunch of papers to hand over to his superior. High Overseer Khulan takes it and shuffles it against the wood, before clearing his throat a second time.

“On the 23rd of Harvests **** _ five  _ whales washed up from the sea,  _ two of which _ just steps below the Abbey’s headquarters in Whitecliff. They had beached themselves for seemingly no reason, and when three of my brothers stumbled upon them they were... _ unsettled  _ at what they found.” He pauses and lifts his gaze to look over to Emily, brows pulled together in an almost grave expression, “Your employees came to help the beasts- as if their job- but got into an argument with the present Overseers making their rounds. My brothers sensed magic on these poor animals, as well as witnessed firsthand their writhing and painful moans...do you have an explanation for this?”

“Certainly,” Emily flawlessly replies, calm as a breeze, “my Head Director can tell you all the science behind this phenomenon… _ Director?” _

As she turns away and motions to you with a smile, you nod and stand. You make your way up to the podium, acutely aware of each heavy step you make. Having everyone’s eyes on you makes you feel prickly under the skin, but you focus on your breathing and force that aside. You imagine that the crowd isn’t even there and that you’re still in the Kaldwin Estate, practicing your script with Emily and Corvo.

_ Showtime. _

“High Overseer Khulan, Overseer Alcott,” you greet politely with a curt nod of your head. You can't will yourself to make proper eye contact but you do catch the former’s stiff smile in your peripheral. “Whales are a migratory species. They follow their ancestral routes to safe places to feed and breed each season. However, due to the technological advances of the 21st century, sea traffic has gone up significantly as we depend on it more and more for things like food, resources, and clean energy…”

You glance up from your tablet as you pause, taking in the crowd of press before you. In the back of the room are several large cameras, eagerly trained on your form beneath the spotlight. Some people who you assume to be reporters scribble down in their notebooks or into their laptops and tablets. However the longer you wait, the more eyes are drawn back to you. Waiting. The suffocating silence comes back to haunt you as you stand frozen- just for half a second- under the gaze of millions. Not just those in this cramped, poorly lit room. Through the cameras, you know your image is being reflected and shown across the whole of the Isles. To people who have no idea what lies just on the other side of this world. Completely clueless about what awaits on the horizon. The truth that only you and the Outsider know.

But you hold your tongue, as you always have and will continue to do, not necessarily out of weakness but because now you have a more important role to play.

So you take the truth, and swallow it, cringing internally as it clings to your throat like vile.

“The whales,” you drone off, your voice lost to the sea of static that slowly rises above your ankles. It sits there, unseen, but numbing you slowly nonetheless. You ignore it and press on, lifting your head to address the crowd directly, “they’re finding a new migration path to adapt along with us, which is why there have been more sightings recently.”

“What about the beachings?” Khulan speaks up.

“As I said, these old migration routes have been ingrained in the whales today. For something that deeply instinctual to change- even slightly- it can cause  _ significant _ stress on an animal’s brain.”

Overseer Alcott clears his throat and steps forward, “If I may... _ Director,”  _ he starts, tone clipped and sharp, “Could you perhaps elaborate further on the psychology behind  _ why  _ these animals would want to do such a thing?”

While his tone remains curious and innocent, with just a fleeting glance you can see his contempt. It’s written clearly on his face from the way he barely bothers to hide his growing sneer. He’s either testing your intelligence on the matter or your ability to answer under pressure, but either way, you’re ready for it. As terrible as you are under the spotlight, your intellect and work ethic  _ is _ real and rarely matched. Ever since you started living with the Kaldwin’s something changed in you and for the better. You gained a drive and strong will to become worthy of their attention. For better or for worse, you are the Head Director, and there’s no way some stuck up religious prick is going to be the one to break that streak. Any other topic, and perhaps you might stumble a bit. Give in to your anxiety and fears. Luckily for you, however,  _ this  _ is your element. Your area of expertise.  _ Marine biology. _

It is with that small, inner pep talk that you stand a little taller and manage a stiff smile as you reply just as fluidly, “Of course…”

“...the act of marine animals beaching themselves is hardly a new phenomenon. When faced with stressful situations such as sickness or injury, bad weather, old age, navigation errors, or even hunting too close to the shore, the animal can become confused and end up washed ashore. The reason this has been happening more recently is tied to the whale’s newly formed migration patterns. They swim around Gristol, following the others of their pods, and accidentally get caught in the tides of unfamiliar waters.”

Alcott, having tapped his foot through your entire explanation, opens his mouth to rebuttal but is silenced by the stoic, firm hand of the High Overseer. Khulan nods your way with a smile which twitches as Alcott mutters harshly in his other ear. When the High Overseer finally speaks again, it feels more forced. Like the words are being pushed out of his mouth.

“That makes clear sense to me, Director. However, that still doesn’t explain why the whales are changing their migration pattern and why my men sensed magic on their bodies.”

Leaning back on your heels, you clasp your hands together on the podium, “As I said before, just ten years ago we hit a record as overall sea traffic went up 5 percent. That may seem like a small number, but considering our past dependence on the ocean and its resources it’s quite a hefty integer.”

_ “-Forgive me,”  _ Hadwin Alcott all but spits into his microphone, holding up a hand as Khulan stands rigid behind him. “but I fear we are getting off track from the main issue. The very reason for concern which has brought everyone here today.” His words, thrown out on a pause of curious onlookers, fall on your own hazy ears. His narrowed, dark eyes find you across the stage, making the first  _ real  _ contact between you. With a sort of hidden glee, masked to others as genuine interest and maybe even concern, he asks you a question you were hoping you wouldn’t hear.

“Why were the whales covered in black markings, then?”

In the front row, a few brows of reporters furrow. Eyes shifting up from their notes to truly listen in. All at once, the eyes are all back on you, and although you  _ know  _ it’s your mind playing tricks, you can almost hear their scrutiny. Their harshly exchange whispers. The slowly mounting accusations. You don’t risk a cautionary glance towards Emily or Corvo. No, this is all on you, as Head Director. Khulan doesn’t even say anything, his fuzzy form still outside your proper field of view but even he seems to hold his breath as you remember your script. The lies are meant to smooth things over and keep thousands of people from panicking.

“If you are referring to the rumors online, Overseer Alcott, I assure you they aren't true.”

The man in question scoffs, “So you are to say that my brothers are liars?” He shakes his head, and when you finally turn your stiff neck over to watch, he’s addressing the crowd and the cameras. The chest of his uniform sticks out, nearly over the podium itself as he physically demands the people’s attention.

“People of the Isles, High Overseer Khulan and I speak for the Abbey when we say we are worried. Concerned. For the people at the hands of those who would corrupt you!” He waves a hand in your direction, a grand arc meant purely for show and somehow it seems to be working the longer he rambles on. Even some reporters in the back have begun lifting their heads or blinking away the hazes in their eyes. “The Abbey of the Everyman has long been the protector of the people. We learned of the evils that crawl from the shadows so that you don’t have to- so that you can sleep at night! Safe! So for you-“ he turns then to shake his head solemnly, prying eyes flicking over your form (which only makes the static rise higher within you) “-to claim that we don’t know what we’re talking about is nothing short of a mockery on our name. Ungrateful, and foolish-“

You nearly jump right out of your skin as a soft hand presses to your upper back. Emily’s commanding voice comes from beside you, calm but strong and unmoving.

_ “That is enough,”  _ she begins, then falls immediately back to her typical cadence, “As I said before, we greatly respect all that the Abbey does for the people of the Isles, however, there has been a misunderstanding.” The hand moves to your shoulder, pressing lightly before dropping, and only as she continues speaking do you move over enough to share the space. Her immediate presence is comforting, yet you can’t help but feel the tension of the room beginning to suffocate you. That static noise still clinging persistently to your legs as it rises still. You swallow thickly and focus only on the script before you and the rise and fall of Emily’s voice as she attempts to save you.

“You say we are calling your men liars or fools but that couldn’t be further from the truth. While it is true that many rumors have spread online about these sighted black markings, they are not nearly as frightening as they appear-“

“So you admit it,” Overseer Alcott bites, “they are real?”

“In a way.” You finally speak up, the words having been locked tightly behind a lump in your throat. The words feel almost foreign coming from your lips, yet you pass them still, desperate for an escape from all this madness. “Most of the pictures have been faked, although yes, certain whales  _ have _ been spotted in the wild with flecks of black clinging to their skin.”

“What is it then?” The High Overseer finally speaks up, causing Alcott’s head to swivel- almost as if he had forgotten his superior was even there.

_ “A simple, harmless bacteria.” _ You nod, passing the lies onto the masses. The words you practiced in the mirror for hours on end this very morning. You almost began to believe it yourself, but then every time the truth would return. Reflecting back at you.

_ The Void...it’s… _

“It’s found deep below sea level, and gathers around the time and place the whales have started to migrate through. This also explains why it’s never been recorded before since the whales never swam through this particular region until now.”

Emily nods, leaning gently towards you in a silent gesture of support, “Exactly, and Empire industries have been hard at work to keep up with all this new data, hence our employees being a bit on edge...so I must offer my genuine apologies for any needless fear that may have sprung from this.”

The room is quiet for a beat, filled by the breathing of several people, flickering, curious eyes, and rapidly scribbling pens. Although your stress has piqued considerably since you first took the stage, you feel a bit more at ease now that the elephant of the room has been addressed. Of course, they can still call you out on heresy, but all of that went out the window with Alcott’s speech the moment you presented the cold hard facts. There’s not enough substance in that to warrant real concern. Leaving a tired, yet complacent Yul Khulan and a seething Hadwin Alcott. The latter’s eyes, although dark in shade, almost seem aflame with hatred and disgust.

When the Overseers do not respond, or perhaps when they realize they cannot, Emily takes advantage of the situation and turns ahead.

“Now that that’s out of the way, I’d like to open the floor to questions.”

Immediately, the chatter picks up. It startles you as several hands raise, voices following suit to try and claim Emily’s or your’s attention. Over the sudden clamor, you vaguely register comforting words passing from Emily’s lips to your ear. You’re so overwhelmed by this point that you can’t even try to understand. So as the syllables bounce off your ears and get lost in the sea of static that constantly surrounds you, you nod, numbly. Whatever she said, it must have been reassuring, because she’s nodding and stepping back. Not much, but just enough so that you still have the spotlight.

“Head Director!” One man shouts as you make eye contact. He reaches tall above the crowd and shouts his question, “Is this new migration pattern dangerous for us at all?”

“Of course not,” you find yourself replying immediately, “just as they have acted in the past, the whales will continue to avoid human contact. They’ll come up to breathe on rare occasions but besides that, we’ll never notice the difference.” The neutral faces of the crowd seem content with this, but their happy reactions only make your heartbeat a little faster. The rapidly increasing bundle of nerves twist uncomfortably, near painfully, in your chest as you start to realize just how close they are to the truth. Yet, they’ll never know, unless it’s too late of course.

_ ‘You are in danger,’  _ you want to admit,  _ ‘but not from the whales.’ _

“Director, here!” Another shouts as you nod their way, “Are these bacteria harmful to humans? Is there a name for them?”

You grip the podium as your heart gives one hard  _ thump _ of fright. Yet, you answer smoothly, praying to the Spirits that your voice doesn’t waver, “The bacteria is  _ harmless _ …” Liar. “it’s a seaborne species that simply rides along on the animal's skin. While at times it might look disturbing I promise you this bacteria is...sort of the good kind.” You finish a little lamely, adding on as only more questioning hands begin to raise, “It’s only recently discovered so there’s no name yet but our Biology Department is working hard to record it.”

“Head Director,” a woman asks from the front row, taking your flickering eye contact as initiative, “for posterity’s sake, can you confirm your graduation from the Academy of Natural Philosophy?”

You startle at that unexpected question, your brows knitting together in genuine surprise. Immediately, reporters begin scribbling down and the camera’s clicks speed up- although perhaps that’s just your imagination, too.

“I graduated just last Earth,” you muster the words, despite how jarring you find the change in subject, “I’m...unsure of what else you’d like me to say.”

Like sharks jumping to an injured seal, the room begins erupting with more and more noise. Static collects in waves up to your chest, now. Having risen even higher while you were occupied answering questions. You bite your tongue within your cheek and simply move forward.

_ I am in control. I am in control. _

“Is it true that the Kaldwins paid for your tuition?”

The words feel like a scalpel pulling through your skin. Searing only just the surface layer to search for a wound beneath the flesh. The implications begin to make you sweat and sway, and through the haze of your anxiety, you can feel a cold rush of something familiar. If anything it only causes you more panic as you clamp a hand down over your gloved left hand. As if that would stop the magic from collecting as it is. Are you losing control of your powers? You aren’t sure but it only occurs to you now that every time you’ve activated your magic has been in stressful situations. And currently, your heart is pounding fearfully in your chest. What would happen if you turned invisible right now? In front of everyone. Would the crowd gasp and scream as dark crystals manifest over the skin of your hands and arms, reaching higher and higher? Would the Overseers jump like ravenous wolfhounds and drag you off to Whitecliff? You can imagine them now, preaching the whole way there as people look on and whisper harshly. Eyes of past colleagues and peers, shaking their heads in disgust because they knew all along.

“That is an unnecessary question,” Emily speaks up again over your lingering silence, but another crowd member picks up where they had left off.

“Director, how are you related to Jessamine Kaldwin?”

Now  _ that  _ makes your blood run cold. Even Emily has gone stiff under the sounds of her mother’s name passing from the lips of the crowd. You can imagine Corvo making a similar expression without turning to confirm. Sunken.

Too soon, but it’ll always be too soon, won’t it?

So you chime in, despite how painful it is with your insides twisting and thrumming on as they are because they can call you out on whatever they want but Emily is off-limits. That same reporter in question who asked the question seems almost sheepish under your gaze, their eyes not quite meeting yours but pen ever at the ready for the response.

“I’m not,” you admit, “I’m related to Corvo’s side of the family.” An old lie you had picked up upon being adopted into the family. They had nothing against adoption, of course, but given their company and legacy of nobility, such a scandal would have become an uproar. Despite being a new modern era, the people of the Isles still harbor a sort of obsession with class and the origin of one’s birth. Honestly, you think some people take a sick sort of pleasure in gossiping about such things. And wouldn’t they find it a treat to learn that you had been born a  _ street rat _ ? Taken in out of  _ pity. _ That kind of truth could very well follow you until the day you die, and the Kaldwin’s graciously protected you from the moment you walked into their home. For your sake, you’ve always told yourself. So as far as anyone else knows, you’re one of Corvo’s direct relatives from Serkonos. Even the estate staff, those who have worked there long enough at least, believe it. Or perhaps they simply know better than to question the lord and lady of the house.

Yet still, the question ricochets around your body, bringing with it a sudden wave of anxiety. That, coupled with the magic flowing faintly through your blood makes you feel overwhelmingly nauseous. You feel as though you are swaying, but you can’t be sure how much of that is true and what is being made up by your fuzzy brain. The static that’s lingered in your feet has since risen and now laps just behind your eyes. Pulsing and stinging, held back only by the flutter of your eyelids.

Some of the people whisper in the back of the room, and you find you can’t tear your eyes away from them as another person in the front row raises a hand and asks, “Does Mr. Attano have any comments on this?”

Shaking her head, Emily wedges herself between you and the podium, her voice has returned to its usual authority, “No, actually I’d like to ask that we continue to stay on task with any questions retaining to the whales..?”

A much larger presence appears on your other side, and this time you can’t contain your instinctive flinch. Thankfully it’s only Corvo himself, leaning into your field of view with a concerned look. In the warmth of his gaze, you find yourself suddenly feeling guilty. Silently he’s asking if you’re alright, that much you can gleam but you can’t bring yourself to answer. Or do much of anything, really. You’re too overwhelmed by the room. The lights are suddenly too bright. The clamor of reporters and cameras too loud. The static in your head too painful. It’s like your whole body is alight, yet also numb. An unfortunately familiar feeling you’ve come to know too well.

Where did they even get this idea? That you aren’t a legitimate Kaldwin? Could Irene have said something or tipped someone off? No, there’s no way she could know about your past. No one does. Even if she did somehow, surely she wouldn’t just get you fired and leave it at that. She clearly had further intentions when she broke into your office. It doesn’t make any sense.

Like magnets, your eyes are drawn to those of Hadwin Alcott’s across the stage. The Overseer is squinting at you thoughtfully, the corner of his mouth turned distastefully. There’s something dangerous that looms in his expression. Something sharp and serrated. Then, you  _ swear  _ his gaze shifts downward towards your hand but you don’t want to believe it. Don’t even want to think about what would happen if you got too emotional right now and used magic. Yet, at that very thought, your left hand ignites from within. A surge of cold magic washes over you in your panic and suddenly you’re feeling  _ very  _ sick.

Because something in Alcott’s expression twitches and shifts and you’re already turning away because  _ he knows-  he knows-! _

“Kid-“ Corvo’s voice manages to cut through the darkness that’s begun to creep into your vision. Panic visibly manifested.

There’s a brief, silent exchange between Emily and Corvo and perhaps a muttered word or two- you aren’t sure- before Corvo’s hand at your back begins to lead you away. Back towards the stairs. Maybe it’s the opportunity of escape that triggers it but something  _ snaps  _ inside you. Suddenly your feet are moving faster and faster until you’re nearly running to the back room. Just to get anywhere that’s private so that you don’t heave all over the floor. A few back managers look up quickly or move awkwardly to make way for you, but you don’t dare meet their eyes or take in their expressions.

You run into the waiting room, meant for guests such as yourself, and barely make it to the private bathroom before you’re gagging. Rather, the vile mixes and jumps around in your gut, never quite reaching high enough to burn your throat, but always threatening. Keeping you waiting in agony. Your heart must be going at a mile a minute, spinning further and further out of control.

Your numb legs can only get you across the room. Which is quite small for a private bathroom. You don’t think you’re going to vomit, so instead, you just let your panicked body do what it needs and lean back against the cold stone wall. There’s a window above you, cracked just enough to let the autumn breeze roll inside. Chilled but not cold. Crisp enough to begin grounding your brain and ease your nerves even if only a little bit. Like a child you curl in on yourself, hugging your knees as your thoughts run rampant. You try with every bone in your body not to think about the people just outside. Like vultures waiting for their turn at the carcass. Their ever clicking cameras and scribbling pens.

You wish you were home. You wish you could be somewhere safe like your room or the vault. Even the goddamn  _ Void itself  _ would be preferable right now. If only it’d open up here and swallow you whole. Wouldn’t that be nice?

The bathroom door creaks open, a sound you barely even register before there’s rushed speaking. Soon enough, you’re being scooped up into a tight embrace. You only squirm briefly as the person pulls you forward from your previous position. It forces you to let go of your knees and instead you find yourself against a firm chest. Strong arms wrap around you, effectively caging you there. You know who it is even without opening your eyes- from the tough fabric of his jacket and the familiar scent of steel and hearth. Yet, even so, your brain fights with everything it has until you have no other choice but to go slack. To give in and allow the pain to flow and that distant song to thrum away in your hand. Slowly your hands raise and wrap around him, too, although not nearly as firmly. It’s like all the strength has been sapped out of you, yet even despite the comfort you find in the embrace your lungs keep pumping away, painfully.

How long have you been hyperventilating? You didn’t even realize it. Couldn’t feel the pain in your chest and throat until just now.

“I used to get them too,” Corvo mutters, “it’s okay.”

“You-“ a cough leaves you as you attempt to answer and Corvo simply pats your shoulder reassuringly. Waiting, ever patient, as you collect yourself around the desperate inhales enough to answer, “you did...really?”

He grumbles in affirmative, “When I was a boy, I got into a lot of fights with the neighbor kids. Back then I had asthma and sometimes I got winded.”

You give a weak nod, sniffling as you just now realize there are tears in your eyes. Corvo is from Serkonos, Karnaca specifically. One of the last places to begin switching over to clean energy. You’ve never been there yourself, but just from history lessons you know there’s always been a large mining industry there. From the mines came gusts of wind that would carry dust for miles- nearly to the shoreline. You aren’t sure, but perhaps that could have been a factor as well, as amusing as imagining a young Corvo is.

“Just breathe.” He finishes with a sigh, and you do your best to match your breaths with his.

Slowly, minute by minute, you come back to yourself in the arms of the man you see as a father figure. You allow yourself to be held like a child as the throbbing sting fades from your lungs and eases out into tired limbs. Even the magic you had felt before has since quelled. Before it was sharp beneath the skin, but now it hums warmly, echoing through your bones in a way you’ve quickly found very  _ soothing _ \- funny enough. Now, the mark just thrums lightly, almost apologetically in contrast to the pain from before.

You sigh and, as your breathing finally just about levels out, you push away from Corvo to balance back on your heels. He lets you go but keeps you at arm’s length, just in case. The gesture both warms you and twists at a familiar insecurity in your gut.

_ “I’m-“ _

“If you are about to apologize,” Emily begins, sternly, from across the room, “then  _ don’t.” _

Despite it all, you manage an amused smile. You aren’t sure how long she’s been in here, but she’s standing against the door which you’re grateful for. You aren’t sure you could look anyone else in the eyes like this. When you were just at your weakest.

And just like that your smile drops.

“Oh god, that was a disaster, wasn’t it?”

Emily sighs and steps over to you both, brows furrowing as she glances down your way, “It wasn’t as bad as I’m sure you think.”

“I just froze up-!”

“I did, too,” she retaliates and looks off into the chipped tile on the wall.

“Damn tabloids,” Corvo grumbles, standing up slowly to bring you with him, “they don’t give a shit about anything but drama.”

You bite your lip briefly and pick at the fabric of your left glove. Lowering your voice you ask the air, “Do you think they...bought it?”

Corvo sighs, a deep and tired noise, before patting you on the shoulder, “Khulan seemed pleased, and any  _ actual  _ reporter in the room shut up ages ago. So yeah, I’d say so.”

“What about that other Overseer...Alcott?” You can’t help but wonder what sort of man he is. You’d met people from the Abbey like him before. Extremists for their faith in the church, and those who were the most suspicious and paranoid by nature. You’d hear rumors all the time during your six years stay at the Academy. Of Overseers discovering hidden shrines and whole families of heretics, only to drag them away to be “saved” at Whitecliff. Funny, how you never seem to hear stories of people’s experiences  _ after  _ they leave. As if the public has only a one-way view into the Abbey of the Everyman. You wonder if Hadwin Alcott is that sort of man. He certainly holds the fear of the Void in his eyes and his tone. Sharp and reprimanding.

Finally, as if she had been waiting on it, Emily pulls you into a quick but tight hug, “He’s just another crazed devout. He knows nothing of science and biology as we do and so long as we have the High Overseer on our side, it doesn’t matter…” she sighs and steps away, looking towards you with a comforting smile.

“We’re safe.”

Your stomach twists again at the words, causing discomfort to stretch across your face in turn. Once again you are faced with the ultimatum. The truth is a burden in your hands. You know you shouldn’t tell them here- not now- but you’ve never been a good liar and you can’t bear it, to see her happy content smile when in reality things are much worse. Is this how they felt before they told you about the Siren in the basement? No, you shouldn’t think like that. These are two different things, entirely.

You take a deep breath and force yourself to look into Emily’s eyes.

“He told me the truth, Emily,” you make out just above a whisper, “about the whales and the virus.”

Her eyes widen a fraction, but she doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t even look to Corvo for assistance, even though you can feel his eyes in the back of your head. Almost as if in response to the memory, your mark pulses with energy.

…

_ His words echo around the space between you, each syllable carrying an unseen, heavyweight. The Outsider just waits there, tail slowly churning to keep him upright as he awaits your reaction. You simply stare up at him blankly, shocked silent. You don’t know what to say. So you can only repeat it back to him in a much more uncomfortable voice. _

_ “The Void...is leaking?” _

_ The Siren doesn’t reply or even move his head in a yes or no motion. All he does is blink slowly and take in every muscle of your face. Waiting for something- but what is he expecting? _

_ After a heavy pause, he lets out a silent sigh and moves his arms from behind his back to cross over his chest. His form dissipates in a cloud of smoke, wisping about shortly to appear on your left. As he fades back into reality, he continues swimming about almost lazily. His expression, however, teeters towards something darker. _

_ “For as long as Humans and Leviathans have existed, there has been religion. Superstition.” He mutters the word blankly, “Each one unique but among all that have reached my ears, they share a common theory…” with a muted click of his tongue he phases away, only to reappear behind you to your right. You turn only your head as he passes. His black, endless eyes are almost hazy as he looks forward as if musing to himself more than to you, “the end of all things.” _

_ You blink at him, turning more to try and capture his full attention, “What- like the end of the world?” _

_ He doesn’t spare you a glance, but you feel like you’re burning in his peripheral nonetheless, “There are many names, one for every practice. The great catastrophe, an endless darkness, the Void itself...the death of the universe.” _

_ His whispers trail off and with a curtness, he finally turns to meet your gaze- no more than a foot away, as if your conversation is that private despite being sure yourself that no one else can hear you when you’re both here. In the Void, or whatever this pocket of existence is that clings to him like smoke. _

_ “Whatever you believe, it all ends the same. The world will be taken back. Swallowed up by the Void...but there are ways to speed up this process.” _

_ “What does this have to do with the whales?” You ask, ever curious. _

_ He thinks a long time, made to feel even longer under the tense circumstances lining every word which drips from his mouth. When he does answer, he has already swum around you once more, encircling you with his long tail. _

_ “The Void is not exactly a place,” he ponders, “it’s much older and stranger than you could ever know. It watches you from within. Everywhere and nowhere…” the Siren backs away, leaning back with the motion nonchalantly, “since time immemorial, it’s laid in wait just beyond what you can see and touch. Imbued in certain objects and even animals.” _

_ As he gets a fair distance from you, the Siren stops his swim and turns to you, mid-air, patient as ever. You urge yourself forward, step by step as you keep pace with him. Beneath your feet, a sharp rocky path melds and comes together. _

_ “I take it that includes whales?” You provide, keeping your eyes strictly on your own feet before you, in fear of tripping or falling. _

_ “Whales,” he echos, “have always been closest to the Void. Even closer than us Leviathans, who are a close second. Perhaps that’s why they are as attracted to us, as they are.” _

_ “So you’re telling me,” you ramble, gears turning behind narrowed eyes as you glance up towards him- finding his dark eyes already searching your’s, “whales keep Sirens as pets- or would it be the other way around?” _

_ Despite the graveness of your conversation, the lighthearted jest urges a smirk from him. He turns away as it starts to form around the edges, but you catch it clearly. He huffs in amusement and swims ahead a few paces. _

_ “The Void is no simple thing to be poked and prodded like you human scientists are so prone to do. However, maybe I should put it in...simpler terms…” _

_ With a decisive flick of his tail fin, the Siren turns and raises himself above you, causing you to halt where you stand. He cants his head to the side and regards you with a much more serious expression. _

_ “Imagine the fabric between our worlds like a bubble. Transparent and easily dismissed, but also surprisingly fragile.” He crosses his arms over his bare chest as a bubble manifests itself between you. It’s purple and shimmering with a thick sort of glaze. “Were something to happen, and cause an imbalance…” he waves a finger and the bubble shakes beneath an unseen force. Various tears and rips begin to appear, letting free wisps of light from within. The shape of the bubble phases in and out, unnaturally, as more and more light leaks through. Then, with a sharp slice of the air, it ruptures, sending out a flash of light and reflection. You keep yourself from jumping back by clenching your fists and squaring your shoulders, but your stomach sinks all the same. _

_ If that light from within is meant to represent the Void then… _

…

“The markings on the whales- the virus-“ you echo your conclusion as you had made during that very encounter with the Siren, “it’s the Void  _ leaking _ through the closest points it knows, and when it’s finally too much…”

You look up, back into Emily’s eyes. They’re open to you at this moment, vulnerable from the press conference, and they go wide with the words you speak next. The truth you three have been searching for this entire time. The ultimatum.

“It’ll be the end of the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, we've finally hit the press conference...the Abbey of the Everyman, even under control of the normally collected Khulan, is growing suspicious of Empire Industries, and our dear Reader is feeling pressure from all sides to find a solution to the virus before that conflict hits a breaking point...
> 
> Out of all the chapters in this series, this is one of the most personal for me...I write Reader's experiences with anxiety based off of my own- including of course, panic attacks. Everyone who has panic attacks experiences them differently, and it can be a bit difficult to translate that into words (hence my reliance on static as a metaphor for anxiety)...so I hope it's not too all over the place lol 💕At least Reader has Corvo and Emily to hug them out with~ like I said before, take care of yourselves. This is a hard time for everyone. I believe in you!!! ✨


	17. The Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Beckons you over and hands you a fresh new chapter off the press* here, have some brief domestic fluff in this one...as a treat ;)
> 
> ((Also, an important production note at the end of this chapter, so please read it if you don't mind <3 thanks!!!))

_\- With the city buzzing with gossip, and work overflowing with newly laid plans of action, you struggle to find any moments of true respite. -_

After arriving home, you went straight to your room and attempted to get some sleep with no more than a few scarce words to be shared with Emily or Corvo. For once they let you go on your own most likely for multiple reasons, but you have a feeling they need time to process all that happened, too. So, there you lay until the early hours of the morning- maybe around three, judging by the high arc of the moon. Yet sleep never claims you. You toss and turn, kept awake by your nightmares of faces from the past. Of the hateful yet mournful eyes of your mother. The frightened, injured eyes of your father. You don’t normally remember their faces vividly. Those images are from a time long passed, yet trauma has a funny way of burrowing into your mind like a tic. No matter how carefully you pull at it, the parasite only digs deeper, waiting to rear its ugly head again. Then, just like clockwork, it makes sense that these visions would return to haunt you now, after being forced to face it at the press conference, even if indirectly.

Even as you raise yourself from bed, mind half-muddled with sleep and panic, you don’t give in to looking at your phone. You don’t even want to know about the aftermath until you’re more in control of your body and mind. So you make your way downstairs quietly, following a familiar path, dressed only in a sweatshirt and shorts. You turn the ring over and over on your finger until it presses into the lock on the library shelf. Like something physically pulling at your eyes, they’re drawn towards the Siren’s mark on that same hand. Despite all the stress it has caused you, you can’t bring yourself to hate it. It’s not the Outsider’s fault you can’t control your own emotions. You get lost in it’s sharp, circular pattern as you ponder this until a sharp click captures your attention. The gears turn and open the door to your haven, and you make your way quickly inside.

The rest is a bit of a fog. You gently shut the innermost door to the vault, then just as suddenly you register the weight of your head on pillows. The little study-nook you’ve been using more and more frequently which is set up right in front of the tank. The lights are dimmed at night, and you find yourself nodding off to the bubbling of filters and swishing of a familiar tail.

…

Sleep finally relieved you at that point forward, and you find a strange comfort in the black emptiness that is your dreams. No dreams at all are much better than an evening of nightmares, in your book. You wake at early dawn from the vibrations of your phone- which you don’t fully remember taking with you. It causes you to yawn softly into the blanket wrapped over your shoulders- which immediately square up.

You don’t remember grabbing it when you laid down, but then again you also don’t remember too much of your transition from the bed upstairs to the floor of the basement. Maybe you leaned over and searched for it in your sleep? You suppose...that’s more likely. Well, regardless of how it got over you, you’re grateful. The fuzzy, plush material of the quilt is perfect for keeping you warm and surrounded even against the typical chill of the room. You sit up, still clinging to it around you like a cape, and glance down at your phone. It’s a text from Emily.

_‘I’m going in early for a meeting with Corvo, but I snuck an extra portion of breakfast just beyond the door for you. You’re welcome <3’ _

As if calling out in glee, your stomach rumbles right on cue. You get up clumsily as the blood rushes to your head and you make your way up to the vault door to grab it. You don’t know how she knew you were down here. She must have guessed, but by what factors you are unsure.

On your way back over, you look up and are greeted with the black eyes of the Siren. He swims up to the far side of the glass, closest to your approach, and waits. His expression is blank as ever, but you can tell he’s curious from the intensity of his gaze. Normally it’d make you fidgety and self-conscious, but thankfully at the moment, you’re busy balancing the plate of food as you climb the tank’s ladder.

“Morning,” you smile, placing the food on the walkway before lifting yourself after it.

“Good morning.” He echoes. His voice reaches your ears clearly, undisturbed by the water surrounding his submerged form. That’s another small detail of his you find curious, but- like most things these days- you chalk it up to magic.

Being up here on the catwalk still makes you nervous. Your fears of drowning and the ocean are still frustratingly real, but you’ve been trying hard to get over it. It helps having something else to hold or someone to talk to. Luckily this morning that happens to be the Siren. As per your unspoken morning ritual, he dives below and surfaces at the edge of the center of the walkway. Where the railings stop to frame an open circle platform. He waits with his arms folded, casually, as you walk to meet him.

He’s looking at you curiously, even as the tray of breakfast is set down and you seat yourself across from him. You can’t quite see it from this angle, but you can barely hear the swish of his tail below. Coiling slowly in a pattern that betrays his interest.

“What?” You ask anxiously, voice still raspy from sleep.

He quirks a smirk at you, “You intend to eat without me?”

You stare back, confused before the lightbulb goes off in your head. With a huff, you lean back to get up.

“I forgot _your_ food- _of course_. Sorry, I’ll just-“

His form juts forward as a wet, webbed hand encloses around your wrist. Tight only to stop you from leaving, at which point he loosens his grip. His skin ghosts over yours, and you suppress a shiver at the difference in temperature between you both.

“It’s fine,” he mutters, facial expression unchanging even as he retracts his hand back to his side, “I’m not that hungry right now, anyway.”

Well, even so, that only makes you more worried. He needs to eat and breakfast is the most important meal of the day, as they say. You fix him in place with a contemplative look, before glancing down towards your food. Today the kitchen staff made eggs benedict. The creamy dish sits in a portion on your plate. You hum in thought and look back up to the Siren, who had followed your gaze and looks on curiously at the food. Really, it’s more of a scowl but one born out of unfamiliarity rather than disgust. You’ve seen disgust on him before and this is not that.

As if feeling your stare, his black eyes widen slightly and turn a minute centimeter towards you (it can be difficult sometimes to see where he’s looking, given the lack of pupils on his part), “What are you eating?”

You can’t help the tiny smile that starts to worm its way onto your face- you don’t know why the question amuses you. Maybe because _you’re_ always the one asking questions. Or perhaps it’s the slightly disturbed way he says it, or his skeptic personality in general, but something light lifts in your chest at the sight.

“This is called _eggs benedict,”_ you supply, continuing as he lets out a silent _ah_ of understanding, “you take two Morleyan muffin halves, top them with bacon, a poached egg, and then there’s hollandaise sauce on top.”

“I see,” he mumbles, watching quietly as you take the fork and knife to cut some bites off. There’s a long quiet as he watches you eat, which is innocent on his part, but quickly begins to make you uncomfortable. Like every movement is under close scrutiny. He isn’t judging you (probably) but the intense look isn’t helping.

You pause, “Do you want to try some?”

The words seem to float off your tongue. Unsure, but genuine as they seem to soak in for him slowly. The lapse of deadpan silence on his part makes you bite your lip in uncertainty. He’s back to being completely unreadable. The only noticeable feature of his expression being a slight quirk of his brow. 

“Only if you want to,” you quickly remedy, picking at the bites with your fork and pushing the soft, eggy meal around, “Sirens are carnivores I thought...if you’d only like the bacon, I’d understand.”

He exhales sharply and seems to straighten himself out. That thoughtful look has now been replaced with something...softer. It’s a very tiny change, but you can tell he’s unbearably curious from the splash of his tail behind him.

“I’ll try it.” He muses, tone taking on a contrasting nonchalance. You smile and skewer a bite from the edge of the dish, enough for him to get a taste without committing to a mouthful. You lift the fork and hand it to him cautiously as if you’re heading some sort of surgery and any wrong move or twitch of the fingers will prove fatal. The Siren, unfazed, lifts a wet hand from the water and takes the utensil from you just as carefully. There’s a moment again when your hands brush against each other, and that same curious spark catches you at your fingertips. It’s not _electricity_ literally, but a feeling of high contrast between his cold and your warmth. Like the shock of being thrust under a high wave. Not...completely unwelcome.

How can he be so adorable and innocent one moment and then ominous and harsh the next? Your smile falters as this thought occurs to you. Do you really think that he’s _adorable?_ No that’s inappropriate of you- you shake yourself mentally of such thoughts and focus instead on trying to keep from embarrassing yourself. Thankfully the Siren is too busy to notice your reddened face or fleeting glances. He seems to be entirely occupied with tasting the food in his mouth. He chews for a bit then swallows after a pause. All the while his eyes are narrowed down at the plate, in contemplation. When he opens his mouth next, the words that come out aren’t exactly the straight yes or no you were expecting.

“We have a varied diet,” he muses, tilting off as if in another world and you aren’t sitting expectantly across from him.

“...What do you mean?”

“Your earlier assumption,” he replies, twisting the fork in his hand with something akin to both experience and unfamiliarity if that’s even possible, “Leviathans such as myself are omnivorous...although most of our diet is meat. That’s born from preference rather than anything biological.” His eyes flicker back up to your own, and you can almost see yourself entirely reflected in those black pools, “Hunting is easier in the deep sea, and often the only option. We cannot farm as humans do…”

Like a switch being flicked in your brain, suddenly you are filled with excitement akin to a child in a candy store. Your logical brain comes forward and you find yourself distantly wondering if you should be writing this down or not. You’ll remember it, definitely, but you can’t help but be ecstatic. It’s these moments that you’ve looked forward to since coming home- or really becoming a scientist at all, in fact. To learn about the mysteries of the world and the many creatures that call it home. Especially since meeting him, you can’t deny you’ve always been unbearably curious. Sirens- or if you prefer their other, much more pretentious name, _Leviathans-_ are but urban legends in today’s world. No one knows anything about them other than what the Abbey preaches and the few ramblings you can find in old banned fantasy books. Most people don’t even believe in them anymore. To think that this is a whole new world that's opening up for you alone is...a little overwhelming actually. But in the best of ways.

Yet, on the other hand, ever since meeting the Siren all you’ve wanted is to learn about _him._ Who is he, really? Why is he so important? How does he know all these things about magic and the Void and the eventual end of all things? Sometimes when he whispers to you in the Void he sounds so...old. Like a young man who’s lived far past his own time. Or when he looks off past you, you can’t help but think he looks so tired. Like he’s watching 10 million things at once...that would certainly explain why he always sounds so distant. Like he’s _actually_ in multiple places at once. _Distracted_. 

He is a puzzle you can’t help but want to piece together. If he’ll let you, that is. If not...well you’ll be satisfied filling in the gaps yourself.

But right now, he’s showing off his rare side. The open, more soft-spoken one. If it weren’t for the five-foot-long tail swishing idly behind him, you’d think he was a normal human. A person.

A person you’re currently helping to keep a prisoner.

You swallow those worries and guilts and instead try to muster up a smile for him, “Do you like it?”

He hums in thought, glancing back down towards the breakfast between you. He nods then, a quick but clear movement. “Yes,” he answers, still watching the hollandaise sauce as it shines under the dim morning light, “creamy. Not what I expected...but not bad for a human delicacy.”

This time the smile that breaks out on your face is genuine. Spurred on by your sense of pride in sharing just a little bit of your world with him. Meanwhile, the Siren mimics your motions from before and stabs another bite onto the fork. Despite his subpar rating of _‘not bad’_ he seems pretty happy to chew his next bite. You’ve never seen him up close like this and looking so relaxed. Even from just minutes ago, his face- with all its sharp angles- had mellowed. It’s a far cry from how he normally conducts himself around you; meticulous, clairvoyant, or even a little eccentric at times. Right now he isn’t some bigger being...he’s at your height. Sharing your eggs benedict on a cozy, slow morning. It’s almost insufferably _domestic_.

Without saying so, he offers the fork back to you as he chews quietly, and you take it with equal care. You both spend the next few minutes like that. Eating a bite or two before switching off the fork and allowing the other to do the same, so on and so forth. Only when one bite remains and he insists with a shake of his head that you have it, does he break the silence.

“You seem to be in higher spirits this morning.”

The open-ended-ness of his comment leaves you hesitating. You lower the last remaining morsel from your mouth and narrow your eyes over his way, finding him watching you with his chin resting atop folded arms.

“I...suppose I am.” You agree, but can’t help but be a little confused by the suddenness of it. How did he know you were upset at all, to begin with? It’s not like he could have watched the press conference from here, in the vault. Nor could he have seen you when you arrived home and went straight to bed. No, the first he had seen of you in over 24 hours was last night / technically this early morning. When you stumbled down from upstairs. Yes, that must be what he’s referring to, right? But, judging by the typical knowing look on his face it makes you wonder.

You set down the fork, and bring yourself to look him in the eye, “What brought you to that observation?”

His lip quirks in a tiny smirk, before evening out again just as fleetingly, “There’s more to that mark than just the powers that come with it.”

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“Because you now bear my mark, we are connected in a certain, invisible way,” he lets out a silent sigh before continuing, his eyes seeming to drift off somewhere behind you, “a tether that cannot be broken. Through it you have access to my magic, to use at your will, but this connection is not one-way.”

You wet your lips, lowering your gaze to your lap to said-mark. The black ink sits quiet and content on your left hand, no humming or thrumming present. Right now it’s no different than any other tattoo. Yesterday, on the other hand, you distinctly remember it flaring up beneath the skin as you began to lose control of your anxiety and yourself. In fact, now that you think about it, the magic has only ever come to you when in dire situations. When your heart is beating a mile a minute and you struggle to breathe.

When you stop worrying your lip and lift your head again, you find yourself taken back by his expression. He’s returned his absolute full attention to you. It’s a rare, intense expression. One you’ve only seen maybe twice from him. It’s not seemingly positive or negative, but simply _full and unshaken_. Like you’re the only other person in the world. The only thing to watch and pick apart.

You swallow before continuing, “I don’t have magic, though.”

The Siren lifts his chin and nods, stiffly, “A Siren’s mark is not only for magic.” He provides, as the fingers on one of his hands tap almost impatiently- perhaps subconsciously. You’ve never seen him nervous before, it’s simply not an emotion he seems to possess, but perhaps this is the closest thing to it.

Then, it occurs to you. A guess, really, but you feel very certain of where he’s going with this.

“What like...a mental connection?”

“Humans,” he drawls in response, eyelids drooping only slightly as he regards you, “are highly emotional creatures. So often your history changes and flows at the whims of those who feel so strongly. Like a fish to water, you can’t help but be defined by such feelings.”

Your eyes widen slightly, “Oh Spirits, you can’t read my mind then, can you?”

He seems to relax again, smirking in amusement at your horrified expression, “Not _literally_ , although oftentimes one strong emotion is enough to make a conclusion. You humans are like an open book to me.”

While you still find this new information a bit invasive, you sigh in what is mostly relief.

“When you say _emotions_ like that,” you joke, forcing a half-hearted smile, “it’s like they’re some foreign concept to you...”

His smirk wanes and he ignores your jest. Opting instead to motion towards the last bite of your breakfast. Getting the hint you pick up the fork and eat the last bite. It’s gone cold since you both got off track talking, but it still tastes good and visibly the Siren seems to approve with a nod.

_‘Hm...he must not like to waste food.’_

“Well, I’m sorry if you were bothered by my...outburst yesterday,” you begin again after swallowing, still looking down towards the plate to ignore the pull of his eyes. You’re a little embarrassed actually, to have been caught in such a state. You haven’t had a full panic attack like that in quite some time. To think those same emotions could be felt by the Siren makes you feel a little guilty.

To your surprise, however, the Siren’s eyes narrow in your peripheral, “I thought maybe you were in danger...such a strong sense of fear,”

Now that only makes you feel worse, yet you manage a peek in his direction. He’s looking at you with clear disappointment, but instead of degrading you he simply says, “you apologize too much.”

Ironically, you were about to apologize again- out of pure instinct- so you stop yourself and instead let out a long sigh. The unsaid words evaporating into the air along with it.

“I’ve always had them,” you begin to explain in a softer tone, “they’re a byproduct of my anxiety disorder. When I get too panicked I can hyperventilate and...sort of freak out.” You grimace at the memory of yesterday, and how you escaped to the bathroom, “It’s not fun...as I’m sure you felt yourself.”

The Siren doesn’t respond, but nods slowly, despite probably not comprehending what that means either. Yet, he seems to understand how important it is to you because he doesn’t question it further. Only offers up an equally quiet, ' _I see'._ For a moment he looks as if he wishes to say more, but the words get stuck in his throat. You wait patiently, trying to make sure you don’t look expectant. You don’t talk about your anxiety aloud much, and the last thing you’d want is to make him feel awkward or pressured into providing false words of comfort. As he said, emotions are more of a _human_ thing. As if the very prospect of having them was alien to him. Yet, when he does finally speak, the words- while yes, a little awkward- are not what you expect.

“When you hit the peak of your distressed state,” he begins slowly, “the mark reacts in time. If it happens again, pay close attention to the thrum of it...and perhaps it will calm you.”

You remember the magic flaring up when you were just starting to panic. You had feared your powers were about to activate in front of the crowd, but if what the Outsider says is true...then that wasn’t your _powers_ that were awakening. It was the mark itself. Attempting to break through the static of your anxiety and even out your emotional state. You swear that the magic sometimes sounds like a song. Like a distant humming. Does that mean...the mark was only trying to _soothe you?_

The question is stuck on your tongue, but you don’t think you can bring yourself to ask his true intention with such an admission. He looks uncomfortable enough as it is. Black eyes drawn elsewhere as he seems to ponder other things- or maybe he’s just pretending. Touched, you can only offer him a warm smile. The expression catching his attention, seemingly. He glances your way as you nod, earnestly.

“Thank you.”

Against all odds, his frown twitches, and the tips of his ears turn honest-to-the-gods _pink_. It’s easy to spot, given the contrast from his usual stark paleness, although you don’t have time to appreciate the lapse in composure, because he’s backing away and ducking underwater. You sit up straighter, wide eyes blinking after his retreating form. In the next moment, however, you hear his voice echo through the air again, and into your head. His tone, thankfully, lacks any sort of malice. If anything he sounds more curious than ever.

_“You should get going, or you’ll be late.”_

Grasping for your phone, you mutter a curse. Finding him correct. It’s almost 9 am, and you should have been to work an hour ago. Technically speaking, you can come in as late as you like, but at the cost of your reputation with the staff.

The Siren’s form twists and swims idly, his bored expression popping into your head as you go. You almost have half a mind to turn around as you leave the lab- to warn him that this conversation is not over-

But, as is so like him, he is gone from sight.

Rolling your eyes, you turn and leave for the day, only vaguely aware of how much lighter you feel with every step.

~~~

As you step into the visitor’s center of the Research wing, you can’t help but scan the faces of everyone you pass. Looking for telltale signs of the aftermath of the press conference. Surely everyone watched it. Saw you run away after basically being called _illegitimate._ You don’t even know what happened after you left yourself. How did Emily fare? Did she wrap it up okay while Corvo kept you from hyperventilating backstage? Has the Abbey of the Everyman made any more statements or accusations against Empire Industries? You don’t even know if you want to know by this point.

Despite the worries in your mind, however, there aren’t too many stares out of place as you make your way into work. It’s just the usual amount of attention that comes with being their boss. People tend to always look busy around you anyway, so as far as they’re concerned, the conference didn’t even happen.

Actually, it’s almost a comforting thought. Here, this is the _last_ place anyone would dare bring it up. Not without risking their jobs. You have nothing to worry about…

“Head Director! Great job yesterday at the conference!”

You groan mentally, flushing what you’re sure is some vibrant shade of red, as a handful of other scientists in the hall glance your way.

“Hello, Mr. Fletcher,” you sigh, quietly, as the Head of the Biology Department _skips_ your way. The man is a walking sunray, always smiling oh-so-charmingly, and kissing the asses of most everyone he comes across. Well, you suppose that’s a bit cruel of you. After all, Eliot is a kind man and seems genuine. Compared to some of your other coworkers, he’s an absolute treat.

He smiles warmly as he approaches, “That’s so formal, Director- I mean- we’re working together now...just call me Eliot.” He bows then, at the shoulders- really more of a deep nod.

You can’t help but huff a laugh, “Yet you always call me Head Director..?”

Adjusting his shining glasses, he risks a brief wink in your direction, “First name basis, already? Oh my, that’s quite forward of you.”

You blink widely back, “Y-you just proposed it?”

“Well, _I_ was joking,” he chuckles, and if it were possible you turn one shade darker. You can _feel_ the heat in your face, but thankfully he doesn’t tease you further. 

“Anyway,” he starts again, tilting his head down to his tablet, “I’m glad you’re finally here, someone is waiting to speak with us in the Rehab Center.”

Immediately Irene’s face forms in the back of your mind and the suddenness of the memory causes you to tense up. With everything going on, you had completely forgotten about seeing her again around work. Since she broke into your office and trashed it, top to bottom, you haven’t seen her once and you’ve been dreading the time it finally arrives. Almost subconsciously you find yourself looking around for her as if you’ll look up and find her gazing at you with that same violent look in her eyes from when she stood in your upturned office. Curses stuck to her tongue and crumpled documents in her hands.

Eliot calls your name, softly, and the foreign sound of it falling off his tongue shocks you back to the present. When you turn back to him, he isn’t looking at you with pity or confusion, but a warm expression of _care_...or something akin to it that takes you by surprise.

“Who are we meeting?” You force a smile, and Eliot brightly returns it.

“Today the great, and most _influential_ Beatrice Gray has graced us with her presence,” he replies with a little _too_ much earnestness, “now that the Biology Department is ready to move forward, all we need is your final signature on her plans for the proper equipment, and this virus will be cured in no time.”

You sigh tiredly through your nose, nodding along in response. This plan, uniting all the Departments together, seemed so much more feasible before you knew this disease was born not from the sea but from the Void itself. After everything you’ve seen and been told by the Siren, it wouldn’t surprise you if what you were dealing with had magical properties. There’s no guarantee that anything will even come of this venture now. Magic and the Void...it’s all so much more daunting than you could have dreamed a few months ago. With what you know now, the question has changed.

 _How do you stop the Void itself from leaking?_ You don’t think you can imagine any scenario where you’re looking into Eliot’s eyes and asking him that- not without him bursting into confused laughter, at least.

From how the Siren spoke, the Void seems almost like the sea and our world is a boat on its surface. It’s all around us, all the time. Defining our course and we sail by its whims. But if our boat were to take too many hits- to make leaks to the hull...we would _sink_. At least, that analogy is the best that you can imagine it currently, without much more information on his part. You make a mental note to try and get some more out of him before bed tonight. Maybe bring him a snack of some kind? He seemed to enjoy sharing food with you earlier, almost uncharacteristically so.

Eliot’s gentle voice calling your name jars you from your thoughts, and when you glance his way he’s smiling almost genuinely this time. “I meant it before when I said you did a great job at the press conference,” he starts then quickly continues at your stiff, guarded expression, “Really! Spirits know I don’t work so well under pressure.” He rolls his eyes at that last thought, looking forward again as you both round the hallway.

You can’t help the widening of your own eyes at such an admission, “Really? You strike me as the type of person to flourish in social scenarios.”

Eliot scoffs under his breath, “I’m not as extroverted as I appear, although thank you because I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.” He gives a lopsided grin at that, and you find yourself mirroring the expression, albeit a touch less enthusiastic, “Pop media can be _vicious,_ but if it’s any consolation it’s probably a good thing that they started to get off track like that.”

You allow a bittersweet laugh to leave your lips, “I didn’t feel very good about it…”

“I’m serious,” he nods your way, a little more conviction in his voice, “it means they couldn’t think up many questions, which in turn means you explained the matter clearly and simply. Their jobs, at the end of the day, are to get people to buy their publications.”

“Hence the petty drama and rumors…”

He shrugs but confirms as such, “Precisely.”

As you two stop before the door, Eliot clears his throat and adjusts the bottom of his vest. He pats off any dust covering the company symbol adorning said uniform before opening the door for you. A sly, teasing smirk rises on his features as you pass him sheepishly. He mouths something like _‘good luck’_ but you don’t get a chance to question it.

Because as soon as you step into the large sector room, you’re met with an unfamiliar fiery gaze.

The woman standing before you has a surrounding, intimidating aura as she waits with her arms crossed impatiently while a nervous and fidgety Dr. Hargreaves rambles on about notes and numbers. She must have sharp hearing to have heard you coming down the hall because she wastes no time in moving towards you. Hargreaves stutters in response and a look equal parts relieved and irate pass over his features.

“Head Director, finally-!” He chuckles, uncomfortably, “Director Gray has been waiting for you.”

 _Beatrice Gray_ . You mentally supply as you finally come face to face with the third department head. Director of Nautical Engineering and fellow alumni of the Academy of Natural Philosophy. She’s a handful of years older than you, so you never would have run into her during your studies. Even now she remains glued to her laboratory most workdays, content to email with you back and forth when necessary. You aren’t one to particularly believe in rumors until you see as such yourself, but there’s no doubt in your mind that Beatrice Gray is _exactly_ like they say.

Her dark hazel eyes are narrowed in on your form, mixing with something both disgusted and mistrustful. In appearance, there isn’t a single thread out of place on her stark white lab coat. Even the company insignia, embroidered on the left chest pocket, is free of any dirt or grime. Her long black hair is tied up in a high ponytail, pulled tautly. Despite supposedly working on machinery all day and night, the woman carries herself with a dangerous poise. She’s even sporting a pair of shining, black heels. You wonder if this is her typical attire or if she's dressed up just to impress you. Yet somehow you doubt that, because in her uncaring expression lies a reaction of disappointment. She looks you over twice, unabashedly, before lightly scoffing to herself. 

“All the fuss about _you?”_ She mutters, loud enough for you to hear (not that she cares whether you do or don’t). “What a joke.”

Incredulous, you can only stare back, “E-excuse me?”

Is she referring to the rumors that have no doubt spread around the facility since your arrival? Or your public appearance at yesterday’s press conference with the Abbey?

“Bea!” Eliot cuts in, cheery as ever, “you’re in a great mood today, I see.” 

If this is what’s she’s like in a good mood, you do not want to see her when she’s upset. Thankfully, her gaze is drawn from you at that moment, and she glares harshly towards Eliot.

“Call me that again and I’ll break your fingers.”

Undeterred, the Biologist simply smiles on with a delighted hum of acknowledgment, “Duly noted. How was your meeting with Miss Kaldwin?” Ah, so she saw Emily this morning. That would explain the cleanliness of her attire. 

Beatrice nods- the movement quick and led with her chin- before she looks back to you, “Fine, but I expected you to be there, too.”

“Sorry,” you reply easily, despite feeling prickly beneath her intense expression, “I had business this morning to attend to before work.”

Director Gray narrows her eyes at you and for a moment seems to want to comment but ultimately decides against it. Instead, she scoffs again and looks down to the manilla folder under her arm. She flips it open with deft fingers and slides to one of the first pages. Without looking, she grabs a pen out of her pocket and clicks the end. She holds it up for you to take.

“Whatever. All I need is a signature and then I can get back to my work.”

“Bea-“ Eliot begins, but his smile twitches under her responding glare, _“-atrice,_ must you be going so soon?”

She tilts her head at him, “I’m a busy woman, _Director Fletcher,_ and my work is important to this company.” There’s a beat as she sizes him up and a lopsided smirk rises on her face, “Don’t you have shit to do?”

“How crude,” Eliot sighs, still standing shoulder to shoulder with you, so when he turns your way he’s basically breathing down your neck. The way he calls your name sounds closer to a whine than a question, “...you’re _Head_ Director, surely you won’t allow such behavior in the office.”

“I don’t take _their_ orders,” Beatrice is quick to respond, drawing Eliot’s attention away from your anxious, burning face.

“Hmph.” He pouts, but waves a hand in response anyway, “Not even Emily Kaldwin?”

Gray rolls her eyes, “Obviously, _she_ signs my checks...now can I get that signature, _please?”_

Thankfully you were right at the end of speedreading the document, hand swirling away as you sign along the dotted line- just below Emily’s and Corvo’s. It’s mostly information you already know. Equipment for a laid out plan on how you’re all moving forward to investigate the sickness that’s clinging to the whales. Last you checked, tools were of the highest concern. In the beginning, you found out quickly just how quickly and easily this black disease spreads. Yet according to this, Beatrice seems to have found a workaround.

You blink owlishly as the documents are yanked from your hands, pen following suit. Beatrice pins you with a self-satisfied smile that dips a little too close to predatory for your taste.

“I already sent you an email copy of the details,” she hums, “but I’ll summarize here if you’d like.” You nod, and she continues as she most likely would have with or without your go-ahead.

“Those black markings on the whales- the virus- spreads at the slightest touch, right? It’s too volatile and dangerous to be transporting from the animals to the lab. So, I proposed we bring the lab to the animal.”

“Sure,” you agree, “anywhere you need, you can have. I’m sure the research staff won’t mind sharing the space for a little while.”

“Good,” Beatrice responds blandly, flicking a stray hair behind her ear, “now if you’ll excuse me, I actually _want_ to be productive today.”

Without giving you a single moment to reply or give a polite _goodbye_ , she’s already striding out the door. It clicks shut behind her and you let out a big sigh of relief. Eliot simply shakes his head beside you.

“I think she likes you.”

You turn and lift a single brow at him, and the man raises his hands in surrender.

“Alright well she hates _everyone_ \- at least she didn’t threaten to break your fingers.”

He clears his throat and stands a little straighter, a calm expression washing over him, “As blunt as Beatrice can be, however, she is correct. We have quite a bit of work ahead of us. I’ll go tell my staff to prepare to get samples, for bloodwork.”

“Thank you, Eliot,” you smile and he gives you a boyish grin in return.

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine, Head Director,” he makes a half bow and begins to head for the door, turning over his shoulder to smile at you one last time, “See you.”

Watching him go you can only bite your lip as your thoughts drift toward the future. As uncertain as it is...you can’t help but have a little hope.

You _will_ save those whales if it’s the last thing you do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // Important Production Note: //
> 
> On my end as the writer, I'm actually a small handful of chapters ahead- stockpiled up for when my bursts of inspiration get low. I'm in my final year of college, and its been a very heavy workload. I'm steadily catching up to where I'm at now in terms of Iridescence and eventually I'll have to start spacing out the uploads. Meaning, I'll start making longer* chapters that will come out with longer* breaks in between...so no more weekly updates at that point. This will come into effect after chapter 19.
> 
> That being said, I want to make this clear: I have //no// intention of leaving this story unfinished. It's a universe that means a lot to me, and this story is also very precious to me. I have it all outlined at this point, but it's just the actual writing of it that I appreciate your patience on <3 It’ll take some time, but it’ll be worth it...You're all incredibly sweet and I'm so glad you're all enjoying my self-indulgent story! 
> 
> Stay tuned for more~ and thank you again for understanding 💕


	18. Old Names

_ \- Very rarely do you allow yourself time to dwell on the child you once were. Even more unheard of is the name you once carried. The title that kept you tied to your past...but now you're starting to wonder if you ever freed yourself from that life at all? - _

The next few days are more eventful than usual, both within your work life and outside of it.

For one, you still haven’t seen Irene once since the incident in your office, although you have heard of her dropping in once or twice from George and Micha, the other two interns under your tutelage. She seems to only be visiting to clock in, then go help out at the Engineering Department, before clocking out as if she were never here in the first place. At the start, this made you incredibly anxious, especially as some of the other head scientists began to grow suspicious. You quickly covered it up however and lied, saying that Director Gray needed a few extra hands in her sector, after sending so many to rehab. Of course, you have a distinct feeling she’s coming and going solely to see that other girl, Edie, who she also seems to have under her thumb. You’d act on her threats but to be completely honest you haven’t given the matter much thought beyond subconsciously avoiding them. All the whales in your care now have the virus, to varying degrees, and with a team of biologists constantly at your heels requiring assistance or advice, you are  _ swamped _ .

But that’s only the start of your problems because now you think you finally understand what it was like growing up for Emily Kaldwin. After the press conference, she had warned you of how the media would cling to any bits of drama they could, but clearly, you underestimated just how vicious they could be. You’ve seen more replayed footage of yourself in the past week than probably in your entire life. You did eventually go back and rewatch segments from the conference and while on one hand, you didn’t look nearly as awful as you had felt in the moment, on the other hand now everyone is clinging to questions of your heritage. Emily had stayed behind to wrap up as Corvo and yourself disappeared behind stage, but the young CEO could only do so much. By the time the next day rolled around the conflicts between the Abbey of the Everyman and Empire Industries were everywhere- and has been since, with no signs of stopping. Your sudden and suspicious appearance into the Kaldwin family is simply the cherry on top. The drama has been blown out of proportion, and already rumors of the company have sprouted up. Just the other day you read an article from a lesser-known Gristolian newspaper claiming that Empire Industries was a front for the practice of the forbidden arts and that the Kaldwins were a family of witches. In that same vein, many have even started making connections between Jessamine’s half-sister, Delilah Copperspoon, and the drama. More gossip saying she had finally wormed her way back into the company she tried to steal years ago, after Jessamine’s sudden death. While that did technically happen, the truth is Delilah hasn’t been seen much since. She only ever returns for awkward attempts at connecting with Emily or making business deals. And that’s only the tip of the iceberg.

You swear to the Spirits, you never want to read another shitty tabloid for the rest of your natural life. You just want a break from all the drama. To wait for it to blow over, which you’re hoping doesn’t take more than a few years…

So, naturally, because you’re starting to think the universe has it out for you, you’re currently staring dumbfounded at Corvo and Emily. 

“That’s an  _ awful _ idea.” You state.

“Kid, hear us out,” Corvo reasons calmly, and Emily steps forward to rest a hand on your shoulder.

“Think about it,” she presses again, “aren’t you sick and tired of all the drama and rumors?”

You sigh through your nose, feeling particularly irritated beneath her hold and expectant gaze but you don’t shake her off, “A party-“

“A gala,” she corrects, lightly.

“A  _ gala, _ ” you nod with a roll of your eyes, “sounds like the opposite of  _ lay low _ \- remember that Emily?” widening your eyes you look up at her expression, which is quickly melting into one of annoyance, “When you reassured me that laying low and not attracting attention to myself would make this all go away?”

“That’s true,” she mutters, then steps away to cross her arms, “but this is different. It would be  _ good  _ attention.”

Seeing your skeptical look, Corvo steps back into the conversation, “I wasn’t sure at first, either, but I think it’s a good idea. If Empire Industries threw a grand party, then we could invite the High Overseer and smooth over any rough edges to the public eye.”

You shake your head, deep down already knowing any argument is futile, but you try anyway, “Won’t the press see right through that?”

“The  _ gala,”  _ Emily presses again, “would fall right over the original founding day of the company, so that will be the cover-up. We’ve held such events in the past, so this won’t be completely out of the blue.” She tilts her head slightly, the corner of her lip lifting as she gives you an amused expression, “Besides, it might be good for everyone to let loose for a night.”

“Aren’t you the one who pushed us to work harder? Since this is a constantly escalating situation?”

Something in Emily’s warm gaze flickers and wanes, and you know you’ve stepped out of line somehow. Most likely, you’re both remembering the last time you argued about the topic of quick results. You’ve never liked fighting with your sister. So, swallowing your guilt and the apology she wouldn’t accept anyway, you glance away towards the tank beside you. The Siren’s hiding like he normally does when anyone other than you enters the vault, but you scan the inner foliage looking for him anyway. Your left-hand clenches, as if subconsciously reaching for that comforting thrum of magic.

“Well  _ that,”  _ Emily begins again, voice back to being confident and chipper as ever, “was before we started to truly understand what this virus even is…”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” You smirk, half-heartedly, and tear your eyes away from the empty tank. You meet Corvo’s gaze immediately and find him staring hard at you. Thoughtful. The man is ever perceptive and you can only hope he doesn’t notice the nervous glint in your eye.

He shifts on his feet and crosses his arms, “Whatever is happening with the Void...has he told you anything more?”

You frown and shake your head, “Nothing beyond the fact that it’s slowly leaking into our world...something about a  _ balance _ , of sorts. If I ask too many questions at once, he just tries to get under my skin or leaves entirely...It's an ongoing project.” You roll your eyes at the memory of him monologuing before dispersing into a cloud of black, but not without letting loose a sharp quip or two. Laced with cold hard facts, as if half the time your interactions are pure entertainment for him. Perhaps they are. He has this strange, cold calculative nature to him. He expresses some emotion at times but not often, and even rarer so are they potent. Despite just admitting that the Void could swallow up the world any day now, he has a very indifferent outlook on everything.

“I thought he didn’t speak English..?” Corvo trails off, narrowing his eyes at you, “actually, you never explained  _ how _ he told you. About the Void leaking.”

You blink in surprise. Shit, you never even thought about it from their perspectives. You’ve been spending so much time with the Siren that how it used to be between you before almost feels like centuries ago. It’s surprising to think of how far you’ve both come together. Sure, the merman is still more often than not a little cold towards you, but lately, he opens up a bit over breakfast and you swear he seems  _ actually pleased  _ with you whenever you use your magic and speak with him in the Void. But to Corvo and Emily, they haven’t been marked. They don’t know anything about your changing relationship. About the mark he left on your hand.

You  _ want _ to tell them about it. About the magic he’s shared with you, but for some reason, you just can’t. Sharing that arcane bond seems almost...invasive, for some reason. Like a secret shared between two friends on the playground. A promise to be kept.

You don’t understand why but it feels  _ sacred _ , and revealing it out loud will tarnish it somehow. This  _ thing  _ that’s binding you both.

You'll have to show them eventually...but for now, it just doesn’t feel like the right timing. A selfish act, you allow anyway.

“Well,” you begin, looking off somewhere between both of their shoulders, “the night that he told me about the Void...he also came out and began to speak.” Both share a look, so you continue to explain, “I’m not sure how it works, but he figured out how to use magic to translate his words to me. So I can understand him.”

Corvo scoffs, but his words drip with annoyance rather than accusation like you initially fear, “Why do I feel like he’s playing with us?”

You can’t help but smirk a little, “I’m beginning to think that’s just his personality.”

He nods, blowing more air out his nose before glaring suspiciously into the tank. Emily, by pure contrast, has a curious look to her. One of wonder and interest. For how similar the two can be, they have their differences. Corvo is a concrete man, who takes to numbers and information easy- hence why he does so well as Empire’s CFO. Emily, by contrast, has always had a soft spot for the unknown. Things that can’t or won’t be recorded down on paper. They both have adventure in their hearts, but the motivations are different.

You hope someday they can meet the Siren, officially. Then maybe everyone could relax for once.

“Regardless,” Emily sighs and turns back to you with a certain glint in her eye, “I’m telling you in advance because you’ll need a  _ date  _ for this event.”

“...What?” You gawk, and her smile only curls tighter.

“There’s only one thing the media love to poke holes in more than family drama... _ romantic drama.” _

“No.” You mutter immediately, shaking your head as your entire upper half seems to both overheat and freeze at once. A date? Is she serious? The gala is one thing but finding a date is  _ ridiculous _ . There’s nothing in the world you wouldn’t give for your adoptive-sister but this? No, absolutely not- never- the Void will have to simply swallow you up. You’ll willingly jump into the Abyss long before that happens!

“Well I’ll be going with Wyman,” Emily supplies, inspecting her coat sleeves with a faux-nonchalance you find absolutely irking, “and next in line to me in popularity is you.”

Scoffing, you take a deep breath and find yourself barely able to meet her eyes, “This is silly, what about Corvo?”

The man immediately waves a hand, easily dismissing any possible argument you could make to save yourself from such a fate, “Don’t bring me into this. I already signed off on the party. Not my problem.”

“He’s taking Callista,” Emily says with utmost formality, contrasted against her teasing smile. Her father scowls her way but says nothing, only letting slip a passive grunt.

You want to say something- probably deny her further- but Emily is already straightening herself out and turning away. Her hands are clasped behind her back as she leaves, calling back as casually as ever, “If it gets closer and you  _ still  _ can’t find someone, I’ll set you up with a friend of mine.”

Still left frazzled with your mouth half open, you can only sway weakly as Corvo pats your shoulder.

“I’m here with you, kid,” he grumbles sympathetically and moves on to follow Emily out of the door.

The quiet they leave behind is filled with tension. You feel the magic in your hand hit something and bounce back, but the vibrations are all scrambled.  _ Conflicted _ . You can feel his curious stare on you, but he doesn’t appear or say anything. You haven’t had a chance to see him yet today, but now all you can think about is putting space between you, and getting to work. Although you can’t fathom why, exactly. It’s not like it’s his fault you’re being dragged into such an event.

Why do you have a distinct feeling he’ll only tease you about this? 

…

You’ve racked your brain for almost an hour now, yet no matter how many elaborate excuses you try to conjure, you are left feeling more and more helpless. You don’t think you’ll be getting out of this one, unfortunately. Whether you like it or not the gala is happening, Emily made that much clear. Sure, the very idea of socializing on such a scale alone is enough to put you off, but finding a date? Completely out of your realm of knowledge. Sure you dated around a handful of times in your time at the Academy, but you’re hesitant to even call it  _ dating. _ More often than not, it was in a group of mutual friends and things never went any farther than lighthearted flirting.

Besides, you’ve never truly believed in things like romance and true love. Such things are saved for movies and books. You’ve never witnessed or felt it yourself, anyway. Even if it did exist, you aren’t confident that it’s for you. You’re just not...well  _ love  _ is not for you, so why get your hopes up...right?

You sigh harshly into your thermos of hot coffee, the sound coming out more frustrated than ever as a familiar weight sinks into your stomach.

Great, now you’re even more bummed out than before.

“Director!” A familiar, sing-songy voice calls to you, and you already know who it is before you turn around to greet them in the hall.

“Hello, Director Fletcher,” you greet, turning to see his usual sunny smile.

Eliot bounds over to you and nods politely, adjusting his glasses as he sweeps around you, “Good morning, love,” he winks, and despite yourself, you feel warmth rush into your cheeks.

“Ah, so we’ve skipped first names and gone right to pet names?” You quip, unable to help yourself but fall into his contagious positivity. You’re not sure what it is about him, but he’s just  _ charming _ . He’s also one of the only coworkers of yours to truly extend a friendly hand, instead of blatantly kissing your boots. He’s a nice change that’s quickly grown on you as you’re both working together more and more.

Seemingly satisfied with your rebuttal, Eliot grins rather boyishly, “Caught me there, Director, I simply couldn’t help myself.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you warn half-heartedly, “what would everyone else say? To hear you treating your  _ superior  _ in that way?”

Director Fletcher nods and hums, thoughtfully, pacing ahead to unlock and open the door for you, “Good point. Don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”

You scoff under your breath, blushing even more as the obvious joke you walked yourself into. You and Eliot? No that’s ridiculous, he’s your coworker that’s what you had  _ meant  _ to imply, but it seems Eliot has his thoughts elsewhere.

You know he’s just joking around, he’s not  _ actually _ attracted to you like that, but before you can even open your mouth to stutter a shaky reply, you are stopped by what you find ahead of you both.

Just down the stairs leading into the rehab room is Edie, another boy you don’t know, and  _ Irene _ . They’re talking about something. Grins and jabs are traded within the circle as they break into giggles. As you step inside and stop at the top of the stairs, their conversation wanes. Irene tilts her head to gaze up at you. Her expression lightens significantly as if you’ve just made her day by showing up.

Or by walking right into her trap.

Eliot begins to pass you and descend the stairs, pausing only to glance your way before waving off the employees.

“Alright, enough chit chat,” he sings, “we have work to do. Come with me.”

“Actually,” Irene responds, standing up straighter, “I’d like to speak to you for a moment, Head Director?”

Fidgeting with your hands crossed firmly together, you can only nod, stiffly. Eliot only briefly meets your eyes before shrugging it off and leading the other two away.

Irene waits until they’ve walked further into the building to skip up next to you.

_ “Director,”  _ she mutters with a vague scowl, as if the very word unsettles her, “I’m not feeling very well today. May I go home early?”

You stare hard into her eyes for a moment. She must know that you know. Irene and Edie were the ones to break into your office and destroy everything. Thankfully many of those documents were digitized but there was a certain amount of information lost- which is  _ still  _ causing a massive amount of stress in your life trying to recover. As well as some of your own possessions, thrown to the walls and smashed on the floor. The office building custodians think you have rage issues now, because of her, and she  _ must  _ see the fear in your eyes. Yet, she only smiles at you, carefree as ever and patient to hear your response. No, you don’t like the glint in her eyes. 

She  _ definitely _ knows.

“Irene,” you begin in a low voice, attempting to lean back and look somewhat casual (although that’s very hard when your heart is beating a mile a minute), “it’s not even 10 in the morning…”

Her smile doesn’t even flinch, “Oh, don’t worry I asked a friend to clock out for me. I just don’t feel my best today.”

“Right.” You nod, numbly, trying to search her gaze for her ulterior motives but finding nothing besides sadistic glee. “You haven’t been in much at all though recently...and we’re swamped with the whales-“

“Not sure what you mean,” Irene cuts you off, obviously pretending to be confused. She taps a finger to her lips as she furrows her brows at you, “I’ve been staying late every day. Just ask HR. I’ve got the hours logged in to prove it.”

You’ve already seen the logs, so on paper, her alibi is correct. However, it still frustrates you beyond belief. You want to tell her no and pretend that nothing is different between you- remind her that you’re the boss and she has to do what you say...but you just can’t do it.

Seeing your indecisiveness, Irene smiles again and lifts a hand to sit lightly on your shoulder. Even through the thick fabric of both your lab coat and the dress shirt underneath, her touch burns. You use every fiber of your willpower not to flinch away.

“I’m glad you understand, employee health is important. We wouldn’t want any misunderstandings…” she tightens her hold just by a minor fraction, but the intent comes through enough.

“See you tomorrow, Director!” She nods and releases you, passing by with the lightest of brushes to your side.

It’s embarrassing and shameful in the way you can’t will yourself to turn and stop her. You feel so pathetic, as the door clicks shut behind you and the sound reverberates around you. You feel weak and paper-thin. Like the doormat, you always feared you were. Just another tool for someone else’s gain.

…

You work hard the rest of the day, pushing yourself into your research and running around giving orders until your feet feel like they’ll fall off at any moment. Your run-in with Irene had unsettled you, of course, but over a few hours, the fear steadily trickled away. Leaving you more depressed than afraid.

She didn’t mention or hint towards the circumstances of your birth, but you guess she’s still holding that close to her chest. A silent threat. Don’t do as she says, and she’ll tell everyone that you lied about being related to Corvo. That you were, in fact, born poor in the slums to an abusive mother in a broken home. You still have no idea how she knows these things about you, but she must have access to something or someone who would. She said so herself in your office on that day. She knew you were a ' _ street rat', _ in her own words.

Not even when you see Emily at the end of the day and drive home together can you muster up the plea for advice.

She sends a smile your way and the words immediately die off in your throat. For the first time in weeks, Emily is actually in a good mood today. Meetings went by quickly and efficiently, a new deal with another company signed off without a hitch, and as soon as she starts talking about Wyman- it’s just the final nail on your coffin. How could you bring up your contrasting shitty day and ruin her’s, too? She hasn’t seen her partner in months, and for once she’s actually looking forward to this gala.

So, with a decisive smile, you lean into her mood instead, teasing her all the way home about this and that...laughing to try and forget the pain of your day…

It works only a little bit.

In truth, all you really want to do is eat some dinner and curl up in the vault with the Siren. That inward admission would normally cause embarrassment to flood your system and redden your ears, but with the awful way you’re feeling you don’t spare your strange, mixed feelings a second thought. 

Maybe you’ll feel better after sleeping.

That hopeful thought is what keeps you shuffling your feet from the dining room down to the hidden vault below the library. Slipping past the scarce handful of staff, you slot your family ring into the mechanism and pass through silently. It’s all second nature to you now. Even interacting with the Siren has gotten better, in many ways. Sure, learning all about your shared magic and emotions has been a bit of a rollercoaster, but in terms of  _ him,  _ it’s only gotten easier and easier. You’re starting to learn his habits, both physically and in speech. Surely, he must be getting to know you better, too. And he doesn’t seem upset about his current situation, at all. At least, he’s never once mentioned wanting to leave the estate and to return to the ocean. This you find somewhat puzzling. Perhaps he already knows that once you solve the mystery behind the Void leaks, he can leave. Like an unspoken agreement. Or maybe he’s just curious to see how this plays out? Like having a front-row seat to the end of the world. That, you find less likely but you can’t completely cross it off, knowing how inquisitive he is by nature.

Maybe, deep down, you want to believe that he likes spending time with you..?

You scoff under your breath as you toss your things down into the pillows around you. What a pathetic train of thought. Why do you even care if-?

“Your thoughts are running extra rampant today.” the Siren notes cooly.

You turn from where you’re seated to give him a half-hearted glare, through the glass of the tank. He looks fairly distracted, only half-seeing you as he seems otherwise elsewhere in thought. Yet, there’s a twinge in his brow that betrays his frustration.

In other words, you’re  _ thinking  _ too loudly.

Scoffing, you return to your notes quickly, typing away as you continue with the ever-growing task of digitizing all your notes- including those that were destroyed during Irene’s raid on your office.

“Why don't you go poke around in someone else’s head, then?” You counter, feeling unusually abrasive under his scrutiny.

He opens his mouth to sigh, presumably, but instead, an amused (yet just as curt) huff comes out. It mixes with the water he’s submerged in and floats to the top in the form of a few bubbles.

The Siren tilts his head in your peripheral, frowning, “You bear the mark of the Outsider,” he supplies, casually, “ _ my  _ mark...I already explained this to you.”

So basically, he can’t just  _ tune you out _ . Of course, you already know that. You aren’t stupid and despite how outlandish all this magic-void stuff is, you’ve been hanging on every word of his. It’s a whole new world that you've been thrust into...how could you  _ not  _ remember? You still have vague dreams about the feeling of burning beneath the skin of your hand. When the black tattoo formed and etched itself carefully there. Each interaction between you both is placed in a special space within your mind. Every time you learn something about him, that collection grows. Yet, there’s also much you  _ don’t  _ know or understand…and speaking of…

“Why do you keep calling yourself that?” You dare to ask, “ _ The Outsider?” _

The title feels wrong on your tongue. Foreboding in and of itself, and heavy with an unseen, and incomprehensible weight. A title that feels much more like a curse word than a name. You almost expect him to scold you but are instead rewarded with a rare smile- as strained as it may be.

“Outside the realm of your and my peoples’ knowledge lies a set of preordained laws. Things which must happen and must be.” He turns away, crossing his arms, “It is unavoidable, and without choice…I am one of those beings.”

You furrow your brows as you try to understand what he’s talking about...but you just can’t. Does being an Outsider mean something to the Leviathan people?

“I don’t understand…you must have a name though, right?”

He doesn’t react whatsoever to your question, and doesn’t even dignify you with a response or proper glance, “I am the Outsider.” He supplies, instead. Simply, as if there is no other answer to be given. “In a different time and place- a universe far displaced from our own- the tales of the Outsider are known by every human child. Dark tales told to keep people in line and afraid of roving shadows and violent heretics…how different would you treat me, I wonder, had you been born into that world, instead?”

As he muses this to himself, he smirks weakly and lets slip a brief, low chuckle. As if it’s the most amusing thing.

Is being the Outsider a  _ bad _ thing? It’s something that’s never been mentioned once in even the most blasphemous of your books and old tomes.

You turn more his way, in an attempt to gain his full attention, “Are you as cryptic and infuriating to talk to in that universe, too?” You try to slight him, but you aren’t hostile by nature...so the words sound far more joking than anything other than lighthearted.

Judging by the way he turns with a wider smile, he must take it as such.

“I’m afraid so.” He answers, and with a sweep of his tail, he swims across the side of the tank to be closer to your level.

“Although perhaps the fault is not mine. Maybe you should try listening more carefully for once.”

Is he trying to get under your skin today? More than usual, at least. You feel the sting of annoyance but immediately the spark is snuffed out by your stubborn desire to ignore what’s turning out to be a very shitty day. Either way, you don’t offer him a response. You turn away defiantly, instead, and go back to doing your busy work with a defeated scowl on your face.

Clicking his tongue in displeasure, you barely register the frown on his face as he tilts his head. He mutters your name- your  _ full  _ name- dryly and plainly and the words make you stop completely. Fingers once bent on tapping away trail off until your hands lie prone across the keyboard. It’s not his uncaring tone that shocks you. No, not even the fact that it’s only the second time he’s said your name  _ ever.  _ It’s because the Outsider spoke your  _ birth  _ name. Not  _ Kaldwin _ ...as you’ve been called for nearly 15 years but…

“What did you say?” you mumble in disbelief, turning to meet his intense, awaiting gaze.

His expression doesn’t flinch whatsoever at your reaction. His scowl stays firmly in place as he repeats the surname you haven’t heard in ages.

“That’s your true family name, is it not? The same one you share with your mother.” He elaborates, hands moving to clasp casually behind his back.

_ “Adler.” _

Your stomach twists as the name reverberates through your ears like nails on a chalkboard.

“How did you know that?” you ask, but you already have a hunch.

“I know many things,” he replies effortlessly, and rather dully. As if the very conversation tetters on the edge of boredom on his end. You, however, are hanging on his every word. “Especially things about you, that perhaps not even you, yourself, have realized yet.”

The mark flares on the back of your hand, and you clench it tight, “Whatever you’re thinking of doing just... _ don’t.” _

The Siren is completely unaffected by your uneasy warning and carries on as if you hadn’t responded at all, “You are empathetic by nature. Kind and trusting- but to a fault.” His cold words trail off a moment, and he gets that distant look in his eyes once again. “Humans are greedy and prideful by nature. Driven by a desire to obtain the unobtainable...and so they take what is not theirs, and this cycle of hurt and theft is repeated over and over through the ages.”

Just as you’re starting to hope that he’ll get distracted and ramble off in another direction, his dark gaze darts back to you, ever still in your seat.

His eyes narrow slightly,  _ “Irene Rose _ is not the first person to abuse your weakness, and she will not be the last.”

_ “‘Weakness’...” _ you echo, incredulous, and shake your head in disbelief, “I-I got out of that place. All by myself-!”

Despite wanting or even trying, memories of your last night in the slums flash and rise to the surface of your mind. Images of an 8-year-old child clambering out a broken window and running off into the darkness of night as the wind howls behind them. Of the girl you stumbled into and how her warmth changed you.

Neither of you is really talking about Irene, and the Outsider knows that. He doesn’t have to verbally confirm it when you know he can see your memories and emotions clear as day through your arcane bond. Despite feeling somewhat violated at his invasion into your deepest fears and regrets, you bristle in defiance and meet his eyes head-on.

“Leaving my mother took all the strength in the world and I did that. As a  _ child.” _

“You  _ ran.”  _ He corrects, tail whipping in a grand arc behind him as he rises in the water to be taller than you. “It’s in your nature to run, is it not?”

Now  _ that _ hurts. But you refuse to show it.

You glare back at him a long moment, retorts forming like licks of fire in your throat, but you hold them back. As tempting as it is to argue with him and his enormous ego, this conversation isn’t worth your time. You tear yourself away and back to your laptop, which you shut with a loud  _ clack! _

Pointedly ignoring his searing, black gaze, you silently gather your things and move to leave. While his human upper-half remains firm and neutral, his tail from the waist down twirls and swipes through the water of the tank. It seems almost irritated, and you can't help but wonder what exactly he’s trying to get out of this. From pushing your buttons like that.

He doesn’t say anything as you make to leave. There’s only a muted sigh through the water as you’re already moving towards the vault door.

“Stay out of my dreams.” You mumble in goodbye, but the door is already shutting tightly before he gets a chance to respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I love writing the Outsider as mysterious and soft void-boy, I love making him a snarky asshole as well 🤷♀️ and just when our poor Reader was starting to make a connection with him too...
> 
> As always, I love all your kudos, comments, and even seeing the hits go up-! I'll see you all again soon, next update <3 thank you for being amazing ✨


	19. Hot and Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9,213 words oh my lord...can you tell I liked writing this chapter? ~

_ \- You've never been the most emotionally intelligent, at least, not when it comes to yourself. Now, more than ever, do you find yourself stuck at the crossroads...what is this you're feeling? - _

“Hm...I’m not completely sure. What do you think?”

Emily shoves you out of your train of thought as two banner samples are shoved into your hands. Both are royal purple and white, the company colors, but one square is finished with a gold trim while the other is silver. They gleam under the fluorescent lights of the event center dome, both seeming equally gaudy enough.

You furrow your brows as you pass the samples back, “How should I know..?”

Emily frowns, “Please, just pick one...I’m no good with this kind of stuff, either.”

Pouting, you nod and take back the swatches of fabric and look them over rather intensely. Really, you’re just pretending to think it over, humming in thought as you mentally sway back and forth until you finish your silent  _ eeny-meeny-miny-moe.  _ You present the version of your choice to her.

“I like the silver accents,” you decide and Emily’s excited smile rises once more to her face.

The young CEO nods and takes the samples to hand to her assistant across the way, repeating the words in affirmation. Her assistant nods and scribbles down on the form in her grasp, turning to speak with the building owner beside her.

“A wonderful choice, Miss Kaldwin,” the man smiles, eager for the massive amount of business this is all bringing him, no doubt. Then again, you can’t blame him. How often was the  _ entire  _ building reserved for an event of this scale? 

You’ve never been involved in planning a party this large before...the last time Empire Industries bothered celebrating their anniversary such as this was 10 years ago. You were too young to plan it, of course, although you do vaguely remember the night. You had spent it quietly behind Emily, or in the kitchen hiding from the cooking staff. Thinking back, they must have known you were there. How could they not? But you are thankful for their silent courtesy nonetheless. As you’ve established, you don’t do well with crowds and are even worse so with high-class etiquette. It’s amusing now, wondering how it would look from their perspective, to host one of the company’s heirs in the lavish comfort of the pantry.

You were hardly picky. It was a nice pantry.

Yet you know you’re far too old to hide now. After all, you’re the Head Director. The boss of all other Directors and manager of, technically speaking, all other departments than your own, in Research. Especially after the disaster of the press conference (at least in your eyes it was a failure, no matter how strongly Emily argues otherwise) you need to be here to show the Abbey that you aren’t afraid of them. That you have nothing to hide.

Even if socializing is a fate worse than death for you.

Not to mention the fact that you have to bring a date along, which you  _ had  _ forgotten about until now…Your stomach swirls with anxiety just at the thought of it.

Trying to distract yourself, you allow your eyes to wander around the room. It’s a very spacious building, built like one of those fantasy ballrooms. The square footage of the building is akin to that of half a football field, with just as tall of a ceiling featuring grand, arched windows. At the other end of the ballroom is a grand staircase that leads to the upper railing, which spirals around the walls to overlook the people below. A crystal chandelier is hung over the center of the room, casting a beautiful, iridescent glimmer across each reflective, marble surface. Columns also line around, between each massive window, to hold up that second-floor balcony. There’s a space for a live band to play, to one side, while across the room is a hallway for employees and kitchen staff.

It’s so regal in here you almost want to laugh. As if it’s been pulled straight out of some fairy tale. You find it all a bit too much- too  _ gaudy...  _ and you wonder what the Outsider would think about all this. Surely he’d feel similarly. You can almost see the tilt of his brows as they knit together in distaste. Almost hear the mocking words on his tongue as he rambles on about the  _ ‘human need for extravagance’  _ or some other.

But then you remember where you are, what you’re  _ supposed  _ to be focusing on, and how much of an ass he was being last night.

You don’t know what his problem is- maybe he’s just antsy being stuck in the tank, or feeling extra prickly,  _ whatever-  _ but that doesn’t excuse the way he dug into your past like that. An apology would be nice...yet you have a strong hunch that says he won’t ever admit such a thing.

Emily clears her throat and you blink to attention, turning to face her frown.

“Please, can you pay attention?” she pleads, “I thought you’d actually  _ like  _ helping me with this part.”

You attempt a meager smile in return, “Sorry...which part?”

Emily sighs through her nose, but the tilt of her head she offers you is nothing short of expectant.

“The dessert table.”

_ Ah. Yes, that would interest you… _

“If it helps,” the event center owner butts in, smiling politely, “I can have the cooks bring some samples out to taste..? Certainly better than just looking through pictures.” He chuckles, and you share a hard long look with your sister.

A silent flurry of words is exchanged between you in one glance before blinking in understanding. Standing straighter, you both turn his way with polite smiles of your own.

“I think that would be a great idea, don’t you think so?” Emily agrees, nonchalantly, and nods your way.

“Absolutely,” you respond, keeping your tone calm and indifferent, “it’s for the guests, after all.”

After giving you both a light bow, the man walks off towards two staff members waiting against the far wall. He takes them aside, presumably to ask them to fetch the requested samples.

A gaudy place like this must have amazing food- you’re paying enough for it.

Emily, seemingly sharing your piqued interest, sneaks a smirk your way. Childish mirth is reflected towards each other and you hold back the snort of amusement that gets stuck between your teeth.

“If Corvo were here, surely he’d approve of the idea.” you tease, nodding away despite the scoff it earns you from Emily.

“He  _ hates  _ this sort of stuff more than I do,” she laughs and your gleeful expression only grows as a cart of sweets is pushed in your direction.

“We’re being  _ thorough.”  _ you clarify with a single, pointed finger towards the ceiling and although she rolls her eyes, the young CEO does not deny your act.

“Nothing wrong with enjoying yourself sometimes,” you mumble, so the staff doesn’t hear and you briefly catch the twitch of Emily’s neutral expression. She hums indifferently, although that eager shine can still be found in her gaze.

As the cart of dessert is pushed before you both, your mouth immediately begins to water. Forget the other three tables around you, each filled with various options for the party-  _ this  _ is your kind of choice. There are all sorts of tiny samples. Cakes, tarts, bars, pies- miniature bites of each can be found stacked cleanly on top of the wooden trays. You swallow thickly, unsure of what to try first.

The man smiles and places his hands behind his back, “I believe you will be quite happy with our diverse after-dinner menu.” With a relaxed gesture, he sweeps his arm towards the table, inviting us to try some. “I’ll leave you to think about all these choices.”

Sharing one final look with Emily, you both nod- grins threatening to break out-but you both hold strong. Your straight expressions only last as long as it takes for the manager to turn and walk away with his employees. Emily is a bit more composed than you, but not by much you realize, when she turns to you- biting her lip in amusement.

Wordlessly, you both start trying some of the treats. You don’t dig in, you’re both still here for business and you aren’t  _ complete  _ animals, but you certainly don’t waste any time.

“So, any luck yet?” Emily asks between swallows of a double fudge brownie, topped with swirling drizzles of what you can only assume is more chocolate.

You lick your lips of caramel and lower your own salty-sweet treat, “I’m not much of a fruity-sweets fan myself...but if you think the guests will like them..?”

“No, no,” she waves you off, shaking her head, “I meant finding a date for the gala.”

Grimacing into your dessert, you narrow your eyes away in defiance. Emily scoffs at your lack of response.

“Don’t think of it as a date then,” she attempts to reason in that smooth, formal tone of hers, “more like...a  _ suitable partner  _ for the night.”

“Well, I suppose this whole party  _ is  _ for the sake of  _ business…”  _ you trail off, mind wandering towards the vault and the tank, and scales that shine each color-

“A business partner.” You chuckle, bitterly, as you move for the next sample to force away such silly thoughts.

“Sure,” Emily nods, moving on to try a bite of white wedding cake next, “whatever makes it easier to handle.” Her eyes don’t quite leave your form, however, and after a lapse, the prickly sensation begins to bother you.

Before you can prompt her, your adoptive sister turns fully towards you, a blank expression on her face, “You need me to set you up with Eliot, yet?”

You cough, choking on a piece of tart- which of course happens to already be quite dry- and Emily sighs as she pats your back to dislodge it. Once you can breathe again, you lower your fist from your mouth and glare her way.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She rolls her eyes, “Don’t play dumb. Since the moment you met him in that conference room he’s been laying it on.  _ Thick.” _

You scoff and try to ignore her stare, picking up a nearby glass of water to soothe your burning throat, “He’s just  _ friendly  _ .”

“Friendly.” She echos with a small, teasing smile, “Yes, because  _ friends  _ just flirt with each other all the time- blatantly!”

“Some do,” you nearly whine, starting to feel more and more flustered by the minute.

Eliot- no,  _ Director Fletcher-  _ is your coworker. Not to mention he’s technically below you in rank within the company. You’ve never thought about actually pursuing him romantically. Due to the circumstances of work, it just seemed...inappropriate. He’s barely just started to become your friend, in fact, and while sure you are enjoying working together with him more and more…

Nervous, you can only try not to wobble on unstable feet as a rush of heat rises to your cheeks.  _ Are you attracted to Eliot?  _ You’ve never totally considered it, not consciously, anyway. Romance is something you’re not quite as skilled at recognizing as, say, your professional studies. What does that kind of connection feel like? You don’t know. If there is something between you two, have you ever noticed it? This nervous, excited feeling when you see him at work. Is this something deeper than just platonic?

Emily sets a hand on your shoulder, which feels cold compared to your steadily rising body temperatures- even through clothing.

“Take it easy, I’m only teasing,” she smiles, holding up another sample for you to try. You take it gingerly as her smile grows, just barely at the corner, “but really, you should ask him out.”

This time you choke on air rather than your food. Scoffing, you glare her way and she has to turn away just to keep her composure from slipping into mischievous territory.

“I’m just saying, you have nothing to lose.” She reasons in that oh-so-confident tone of hers, “he obviously likes you, so why not go with him? It doesn’t have to be romantic if that’s not what you want. Just ask him to go as friends.”

It’s never as easy as it sounds, and this is certainly no exception to that rule. 

Seeing the hesitation written on your face, Emily leans in a bit and nudges your shoulder with hers, “Eliot Fletcher is a good person. That’s part of why I hired him...he knows the sort of position we’re in and I’m sure he’d love to help out.”

You lower your dessert and groan, “I hate how smart you are sometimes.”

“You  _ love  _ me.” She counters, flicking a stray hair back over her shoulder. You hold back a responding smile and instead shake your head defiantly. Emily pushes you again, this time a touch harder, “You should go call him now. Before some other brilliant scientist snatches him up.”

“This is a  _ platonic  _ thing.” You clarify, secretly eager at the opportunity to be alone for a bit, as you begin to back away.

Trailing you with a knowing smile she waves idly, “Of course, strictly business...I’ll meet you back at the car, I think we’re just about done here.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” you half-bow, taking a small victory in the way Emily’s nose scrunches in distaste at the nickname.

While a nice reprieve from the otherwise occupied hours of the morning, your quiet walk through the hallway isn’t as relaxing as you’d hoped. Each step towards the door is like another nail in your coffin. The weight of your phone in your pocket is like a block of iron. You are acutely aware of it’s awaiting presence.

As you near said-door to the front entrance, you nervously pull out your phone and flick through the contacts within. After agreeing as a whole to keep close in touch, should any significant progress be made with the virus, you and the other directors exchanged phone numbers strictly for emergencies. You find Eliot Fletcher’s name but hesitate with your finger over the call button.

You don’t understand why this is so difficult for you. No matter how long you stare down at his name, the weight doesn’t lessen from your grip. You don’t want the embarrassment that will come along with your request, but it must be done. You know this. You need  _ someone  _ to go with, just for appearance's sake- and Eliot understands this. Emily confirmed as such. Yet, you just can’t do it. Maybe you’ll have more luck asking in person? You sigh and turn off the device, just in time to knock straight into a hard surface. The surface- no a  _ person-  _ recoils back just as you do, then scoffs under their breath.

“Good to know you’re still an airhead.” she breathes, half-annoyed.

Your eyes widen in recognition, “Meagan?”

“Oh, so you do remember me?” Meagan Foster teases, crossing her arms to properly address you.

“Of course I do!” You smile, still somewhat embarrassed. Speaking of, you quickly begin to apologize but the woman is waving you off nearly the moment you open your mouth.

“Don’t worry about it,” she dismisses but there’s a glint in her eye as she presses, “you have a lot of explaining to do though.”

Swallowing, you can only blink in response, mind scrambling to figure out what she’s getting at. Meagan sighs through her nose, “You said you knew Emily Kaldwin, but you never said you were her damn family.”

Her words are sharp but gaze distinctly lukewarm as if she’s both amused and offended by your little white-lie. You scratch the back of your neck and smile sheepishly.

“Yes, you must have watched the press conference then?”

Thankfully, Meagan drops the sour act and allows a chuckle to pass through her otherwise steely expression, “Imagine my surprise, hearing all this gossip about the new Head Director- then suddenly this little mouse comes on stage.” Her smirk only widens as you visibly bristle at the nickname, “Gotta hand it to you, I never pegged you as the noble type.”

“That’s because I’m not a noble,” you admit, but quickly add on as Meagan’s smile twitches.

“I mean, I’m from Corvo’s side of the family and they were all lower-middle class. So yes, I do live under the name Kaldwin now, but...I never really got used to the posh-lifestyle...you know?”

She frowns, “Not really. Grew up on the streets, myself...moved around a lot.”

Her admission, as bold and earnest as it is, stuns you briefly. You can’t help but be a little envious, in fact. She sounds so confident in herself like she just doesn’t care what society thinks. Meagan Foster is a self-made woman, that much you can glean from the two times you’ve met. If only you could have just said those same words when up on stage...if only you could just embrace your past instead of run from it. Maybe you wouldn’t hate yourself so much. 

But you can’t be like Meagan. You can’t embrace your origins out in the open like everyone else. It would be a public disaster and Emily and Corvo would end up suffering for it. That would make you more selfish than you already are. So you hold your tongue and just nod slowly in acknowledgment.

There’s a pause as something unspoken is shared between you, and for a single moment, you think Meagan has you all figured out. Like you’ve made one of those rare, raw connections between two people who have been through the same shit.

Then, just as you get a glimpse of her inner gears turning, she’s leaning back to break your eye contact, “Well anyway,” she resumes the conversation, casually, “I gotta give you credit, kid, you lasted a hell of a lot longer than I would have up there.”

You sigh at the nickname but tilt your head in question, “Really? Because it felt like a disaster to me.”

She scoffs, the forced breath sounding more like a hiss, “Prying bloodsuckers, all of ‘em. You kept your cool and said what needed to be said...What more can they ask from you?” Meagan shakes her head then, leaning back against the doorway. “Had it been me? I probably would’ve punched that arrogant overseer right in the nose.”

Chuckling nervously at her obvious animosity, you can’t help but silently agree. You’ve never punched someone before but you’ve definitely wanted to once or twice in your career. Recently more than ever.

“So, what brings you and the highness? Having a little party?”

You nod, frowning as you join her against the wall, “Empire Industries’ 70th Anniversary...it’s more for business than pleasure.”

Meagan chuckles under her breath, “You don’t sound too excited.”

Smiling, you sigh, “That obvious?” She nods and you continue, defeated. “Yeah, there’s still a lot of heat on the company, and we’re hoping that by bringing a bunch of rich people together for a night of drinking and festivities, it will ease some of the tension. We just need enough time to figure out a cure and then we’ll be home free.”

Meagan stiffens near the end of your ramble and you try not to fidget under her sudden calculating gaze. You reflect her confusion, unsure of what you said that would have been strange but nothing comes to-

Oh.

Oh,  _ shit. _

_ “A cure?”  _ Meagan asks, idly, but her posture is all business again. Sharp eyes taking in every detail of your fractured composure.  _ “What cure?” _

You swallow, right hand going to cover your left one defensively- a recently acquired habit. Despite the gloves you now wear constantly, you can feel the mark as it dances to life in time with your stuttering heartbeat.

“Metaphorically speaking,” you smile through suddenly very dry lips, “a  _ cure  _ for the media and the Overseers of the Abbey…”

Meagan blinks once, then twice before muttering, “Be straight with me...that new  _ bacteria  _ you mentioned during the conference. Is it really not a threat?”

She’s sharp, you’ll give her that. You want to tell her the truth, honestly. One regular person...what real damage could Meagan even do? Even if she did turn around and tell the media, her accusations would only fall into the noise. It’s not like she’s an Overseer or someone major that people would feel more obligated to believe.

Besides all that, though...Meagan Foster has something hidden behind her mask. Something shaken. Strangely focused. Why would she care so much about what otherwise was a tiny detail mentioned at the conference?

You almost think she looks shaken. Not afraid, no you have a hard time imagining what fear looks like on this woman’s face; she just looks upset. Invested in your every word.

So, with a quick and impulsive decision, you answer her honestly.

“I don’t know yet…but probably.”

“So it  _ probably  _ is a threat?” She asks to clarify, words sharper than knives. Like she’s in denial and your response is completely absurd. 

“Well,” you drone, suddenly feeling anxious as you break eye contact, “when the concentration of  _ bacteria  _ is high enough, the whales seem to be in pain...but it’s hard to tell. They writhe a lot, and they seem to lose some of their senses-“

Meagan Foster leans forward a touch, just to chase your gaze as she glares into your rapidly shrinking form, “Lose their senses...like how?”

“Meagan, what’s brought this on?” You ask suddenly with furrowed, worried brows, “If you’ve spotted any sick whales you should call the company’s hotline right away-“

She tears her attention from you with such flinching quickness she almost acts burned. Her frown deepens into a grimace, “You shouldn’t keep this from the people, kid, they’ll find out sooner or later- whether from the Overseers or firsthand themselves.”

_ Firsthand?  _ What are you getting at, Meagan Foster?

Instead of trying to come up with a lie or deflection- because you know she’s right either way- you offer her a sympathetic frown and hope she doesn’t hate you too much now for this. You haven’t known her long too much at all, but in your sparse conversations, there always seemed to be potential for something more. Untapped friendship, perhaps? As abrasive as Meagan can be at times, you can easily see her chatting away with you and Emily in the comfortable and private spaces of your own home. Laughing over drinks and making fun of all the pompous, arrogant clients you come across in your line of work.

“Do you want to meet Emily and me some time for a drink?” You ask, randomly, and Meagan does a double-take at your abruptness.

She narrows her eyes, “What?”

You try not to flinch and instead weave your gloved fingers together to keep yourself distracted from backing out, “I never got to properly thank you for helping me out at the Antiques Market, and besides...I feel like we could be friends.”

The coat-clad woman scoffs, brow crinkling in disbelief, _ “Friends  _ ...what’s next? You gonna ask me to make bracelets with you, too? Braid each other's hair?”

You huff and frown, stubbornly, despite the flutter of hope you feel upon seeing Meagan’s unexpected amusement. The tension of your previous conversation still lingers like a fog around you, but perhaps this can still be salvaged.

“I mean it,” you nearly whine, “you’re a trader, right? I bet you have  _ tons  _ of stories, and we have the best collection of drinks this side of Gristol...a night out sounds like fun to me...so really, you should drop by sometime.”

Meagan Foster looks at you. Stares into your eyes almost suspiciously as she looks for...something. Maybe to see if you’re lying? Although you aren’t sure why you’d lie about something like that. Regardless, after a long moment of contemplation, she smiles and you grow excited immediately, hoping for a yes.

“I’ll take a rain check on that for now,” she replies instead, but the rumbling tones of her anger have seemed to drain away, which you are grateful for.

“I still have some business to attend to in Dunwall…”

“I get it.” you nod, a little dejected but far from giving up. You fish around in your pocket and pull out your phone, “Can I get your number, at least? For if you change your mind?”

Meagan stands more properly and begins to step towards the exit, just as faint speaking can be heard down the hall.

“Don’t have a phone...but don’t worry, kid, I have a feeling we’ll run into each other again soon.”

How ominous, you think with a pout as her cryptic response has you thinking on a certain slippery Siren. Still, you lean forward and ask one last question before she gets too far away. 

“What are you doing here, anyway?” 

Meagan Foster barely turns around, only offering you a shrug as she makes a swift exit, “I know the guy who owns this place. He’s an old friend...see ya around, kid.” She sends back one-half wave, not allowing you to press further as she passes through the front doors and disappears down the busy sidewalk.

Emily calls your name behind you and you turn to meet her gaze along with the manager and her assistant behind her.

“Where have you been?” She chides, half-heartedly, “Well, whatever, I went ahead and chose the rest of the decorations...so I hope you like them.”

You’re still thinking about your conversation with Meagan Foster, but for the time being you shove it away to the back of your mind. Now, you offer your adoptive sister a warm grin and rise to meet her as she approaches.

“I’m sure the party will be lovely, Em.”

She looks to want to say more, but instead, the young CEO shakes her head and sighs, motioning for you to follow her to the car. You cast one more look behind you, before moving to join her.

~ ~ ~

You ponder over your conversation with Meagan for the next whole day. Her words replay through your mind like a broken record stuck on a loop. Something was different about her this time. Something sharper in her tones. More impatient. You don’t want to admit it, but she’s been acting a little suspicious, in fact. It was as if she knew about the virus, and was just trying to find the courage to ask you about it, after finding out you’re Emily’s sibling and business partner. 

What’s got you truly stumped however is  _ why  _ it seems to bother her so much. Meagan told you at the Antiques Market that she was a trader, and traveled around the world by ship. If you’re basing an argument off that, then perhaps she simply cares about the whales and sea life? Yet, you can’t help but find that somewhat strange. It’s not that you think she’s secretly heartless or anything, you’re sure she’d find suffering animals just as disturbing as anyone, but the lingering traces of anxiety in her voice are what stumped you.

Her  _ urgency  _ was intense. As if this affected her personally. To that extent, maybe she’s just worried about the same thing you are: whether or not the black virus is transferable to humans? She did warn you as such near the end of your rushed conversation...

_ “You shouldn’t keep this from the people, kid, they’ll find out sooner or later- whether from the Overseers or firsthand themselves.” _

Why can’t one person just be straight with you for once in your life? A little bluntness would be welcome by this point. If you can be honest with yourself, you’re getting a little tired of everyone tip-toeing circles around you.

You sigh as your eyes track the sterile white tiles below your feet. Walking quickly past the various doors of the Rehabilitation Center. When will this tension finally snap? It feels like you’re standing on the answer, clear as day, but you just can’t make it out. So it lingers there, just outside your vision. Buzzing incessantly like an irate bloodfly.

A hard smack to your nose however reminds you that it’s not just your  _ mental vision  _ that’s been obstructed.

Reeling back from an otherwise unbothered Eliot Fletcher, you find yourself face to face with yet another little problem of yours. He looks a little surprised but if anything, seeing your rapidly reddening face seems to entertain him somewhat. To your dismay, he seems to be fighting back a warm smile.

“Pardon me, Director,” he feigns concern, “I hope you don’t take offense when I say this, but you really must watch where you’re going.”

You chuckle nervously, already hearing the ghost of Emily’s voice in your head, egging you on. If she were here, you could easily see her glancing between you both, an expectant smirk on her face. Even imaginary, she pushes your buttons. A textbook case of annoying-sibling…

_ “Just ask him to the gala, already!”  _ She’d mutter harshly in your ear with a roll of her eyes,  _ “It’s easy. Like ripping off a bandaid.” _

How easy for her to say. She has Wyman, a perfectly matched partner of which has been with her for at least two years now- officially speaking. You haven’t had the luxury of knowing Eliot that long, so to just ask him out for a night so suddenly- for the sake of  _ tabloid drama  _ , nonetheless- is impossible. So out of your realm of expertise.

Eliot tilts his head when you don’t reply right away, a knowing smile on his face that only makes you more nervous by the minute, “You look beautiful today, by the way. Is that a new vest?”

You glance down briefly to the garment showing through your opened lab coat. It’s a deep purple and embroidered at the opening with golden thread. You swallow thickly and nearly choke on the motion (which only serves to fluster and frustrate you more, internally).

“Actually yes, t-thank you, Eliot.” You mumble in reply with as grateful a smile as you can manage. Eliot beams happily, either at your obvious state of anxiety or the fact that you just used his first name, you can never be sure.

“Hmm, I thought so,” the perky scientist hums, “by the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

You straighten out and clear your throat, motioning for him to continue. Eliot pauses before shifting to his other foot, and for a moment you almost think he’s actually nervous.  _ The  _ Eliot Fletcher...caught off guard. You never thought you’d see the day.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable in any way, of course, so feel free to decline and I will completely respect your wishes-!” He rambles a bit then huffs a laugh, shaking his head as if to collect himself.

“Would you like to go out for dinner sometime?”

You blank for a moment then, to your inner horror, turn beat-red once more- at least you think you do. You certainly feel like your inner temperature has risen in response, yet it’s not entirely a happy feeling. You can’t put your finger on why, but...the thought of Eliot flirting with you puts you...at  _ unease. _

He’s asking you out on a date. A kind, smart, and charming young man that seems to define the very concept of  _ perfection,  _ yet...every instinct in your mind is telling you to decline. Like it’s not right, somehow. Something’s off.

You’re flattered, but...why are you so conflicted, too? You should be happy. You should feel the same way, right?

You should want this.

“May I ask why?” You wonder, surprisingly calm despite your inner turmoil.

Eliot smiles uneasily,  _ “Why?  _ Oh dear, do I have to be so bold?” He sighs then scratches the back of his neck, “Well, simply put, I find you attractive and would like to see you for once in a setting that is not work..?”

If your heart wasn’t attempting to leap out of your throat, and you were a normal sane person, maybe you’d try and tease him for his sudden show of bashfulness. However, you’ve been caught a little off guard, to say the least. You can only stare back at him, unable to find your answer as Eliot grows more and more visibly nervous.

He pushes up his glasses slowly, almost cautiously, and calls your name kindly. Blinking, you open your mouth intending to avoid this conversation. To divert it away to literally anything else. You have a surprise meeting to go to that you just now remembered or the handful of whales you need to see today, or- or maybe there’s a file you forgot up in your office that you need to go get-

“I’d love to.” Is how you respond instead, and the admission takes you by surprise.

Eliot blinks in surprise at your words, which sound much more robotic to your ears with how forced they came out. Then, a satisfied smile, “Brilliant! I’ll text you later then if that’s alright? After the day’s work, of course.”

Again, you find yourself mentally stuck. A helpless victim as the words tumble out of your mouth like cotton balls, “I’m...busy tonight.”

“Oh,” Eliot tilts his head, smile turning into a teasing grin, “I meant I’d just  _ message  _ you tonight, not  _ meet up  _ tonight- although I’m happy to see you so eager.”

You can feel the burst of embarrassment swirl behind your face. A warm, pinkish hue that leaves your eyes wandering anxiously. You smile on impulse, a nervous habit.

“Oh right- obviously! Yes, I’d love to talk later…”

Eliot Fletcher’s smile in your peripheral is beaming, but you can’t help but ask.

“What brought this on, exactly..?” and then you add once more when he grins teasingly, “I mean, I wasn’t expecting it  _ today or now.” _

The scientist nods, suddenly back to his usual lighthearted self, as if the previous show of nerves hadn’t happened at all. It almost puts you at ease.  _ Almost-  _ but not quite. You’re still fighting back the urge to run and hide for the rest of the day.

“Well, Miss Kaldwin gave me a little push, in fact.” he waves it off as if the admission is so small and insignificant, “She admitted that you fancied me.”

Oh, you’re  _ definitely  _ going to give Emily a piece of your mind when all is said and done today. She’s lucky you love her so much. She probably thinks she’s doing you a favor in that headstrong way of hers. Against the swirl of annoyance you feel deep down, you manage a meager smile.

“She did, did she?”

Eliot chuckles and takes a step away, thankfully giving you some room to breathe and contemplate your conflicting emotions.

“Unfortunately, I am an only child, so I’m not entirely sure if this is normal for siblings, but regardless I’m grateful for her meddling…” he raises a hand and offers you a half-bow and sly wink, “I’ll see you soon, Director.”

You watch blankly as he turns and walks away, humming a tune under his breath. Without thinking, you take out your phone and pull up Emily’s number. As soon as the text box appears you type in the first sentiment you can properly name.

_ “Fuck you.” _

It’s barely a minute later that she responds with a  _ “You’re welcome.”  _ and a heart symbol. You roll your eyes and pocket the device, leaving you in the empty, quiet hallway with your swarming thoughts.

Eliot Fletcher is perfect, on paper.

You should be  _ happy  _ . So why are you so put off by such a promising relationship? Has it just been so long since someone showed interest in you? Don’t you deserve this? Are you worried you’re just being selfish again?

Somewhere deep down you sigh, defeatedly.

Animals are so much easier to understand than people…

~ ~ ~

You’re still an awful mixture of nervous, annoyed, frustrated, maybe even a little pissed off when you return that night to the manor vault. After having such a rollercoaster of a day with Emily in preparation for the company party, then getting asked out by Eliot, you were finally starting to collect yourself during the car ride home but now, staring back at the Siren, you feel like you’ve returned to square one...

He hasn’t mentioned the other night yet. Not even cryptically, as he tends to do. As if he  _ didn’t  _ pry deeply into your past and mind without even once thinking of asking for your consent. Honestly, had he asked, you might’ve said yes. Well, actually you would have said  _ no-  _ but...that’s not the point. You aren’t often overly prideful but right now you are stubbornly clinging to your frustrations until he apologizes properly.

Which apparently, he seems to have no intention of doing, judging by the completely casual and cool way he greets you.

The Outsider swims in an arc, materializing as he approaches your side of the tank. His face is neutral and emotionless as he opens his mouth to address you.

“Hello.”

“Hi.” You reply, stiffly, while juggling your bag of work materials in one hand and the dinner tray in the other. Like it or not, you have a lot to do and this is the best place to do it.

Even if that means you’ll have the resident merman staring holes into your head the entire time.

If he hears the clipped tones in your voice, he doesn’t choose to respond to it directly. Instead, he tilts his head as he follows you to the table.

“You’re working so hard,” he muses, “for a cure you’ll never find...”

“Must you always be so cynical?” you quip, sparing him an unamused glance. You find him smirking lightly and you quickly avert your gaze.

_ “...At this rate,  _ at least,” he clarifies, and you hear a muted  _ swish  _ as he presumably swims to be in your view. Embarrassed and red in the face under his scrutiny, you defiantly turn in the opposite direction. 

How could he possibly know that? He isn’t a scientist and studied biologist like you are. You’ve been running in circles non-stop for months now, chasing any leads you can to contain and cure this virus. Sure, there’s still much you don’t know, but he  _ could  _ help you. You know he has plenty of secrets up his sleeve and from how he’s spoken before, the Outsider knows more than you do. More than most people do, in fact. Yet there’s one thing you can’t figure out about his character…

Why does he insist on dancing around the questions? He could help you- could be blunt and just  _ tell  _ you how to fix all this, but he hasn’t despite clearly hinting that he  _ could  _ . Turning with this in mind, you urge yourself to meet his deep, black gaze head-on.

“You know, you could just  _ tell me  _ how to cure this virus, instead of acting all high and mighty...pretending like you know me.”

Something shifts in his cocky expression. A chip in his otherwise pristine wall. The Siren’s smile wanes slightly, yet he does not flinch away from your obvious irritation.

“Oh, my dear, but I  _ do know you.” _

An icy chill hovers on your neck, and as a beat of knowing silence passes between you both, you are the first to turn away with a shiver and frown. Even if you wanted to challenge that statement, you have a feeling it would lead to just another dead end. Another one-sided argument that would end in him walking-or rather  _ swimming-  _ away in victory, while you linger behind in your own embarrassment.

So, collecting what pride you  _ do  _ have, you return to tapping away at your laptop, while speaking back to him in clipped tones.

“I have work to do…”

There’s a pause and a  _ swoosh  _ as the merman just four feet away kicks off and swims in another grand arc. He clicks his tongue, chiding, as he does so.

“Shouldn’t you eat first?”

Sighing, you lift your gaze back to the tray of dinner you brought down with you. It’s pasta night, and the in-house chef has prepared you an especially delicious looking bowl of equal parts fettuccine noodles, butter, and cheese. A creamy bowl of carbs garnished with traces of cilantro and parmesan. The rich smell of the alfredo sauce finally registers in your brain and you sigh, conflicted. Normally, this is one of your favorite dishes, but tonight there’s a lot on your mind and you had been planning on just nibbling the meal. You’re uncertain how much you could eat of it, given how nauseous the day has made you.

The Siren gives you an expectant look, however, and you can’t help but wonder why he even cares whether or not you eat the hot food. Maybe he just wants some? You wouldn’t put it past him, he certainly seemed to enjoy the meals you’ve shared in the past.

You’re still mad at him, but the weakest part of you cannot help but indulge, even if just for a few minutes.

You’ll eat then get to work, then go straight to bed. Maybe you’ll even plug in your headphones and tune him out, should he try and distract you.

But nothing is ever easy for you, is it?

As soon as your hands wrap around the edges of the tray, the merman turns and fades away in a burst of black shards. He rematerializes near the ladder as you approach, swimming idly with a contemplative look on his face. You can’t help but wonder what he thinks about so often that makes him so distant like this. What does he see through those dark, bottomless eyes?

As if sensing you thinking about him (which he may very well be able to do- it wouldn’t surprise you at this point), he turns toward you on his next pass along the inner wall of the aquarium. Almost impatiently he gives you a curt nod, before disappearing again. The Outsider doesn’t show himself again until you’ve climbed the ladder and make your way cautiously across the walkway. 

You meet him at the center platform, and he rises above the water automatically. His dark bangs breach the surface and trail lines of water down the sides of his jaw and chin, but he does little to brush the wet strands from his eyes. You find yourself wanting to do it for him, even though the hair would probably just fall back into place anyway. You ignore the wondering thought of how it might feel to brush your knuckles along his forehead and instead settle yourself down an arms reach away.

“It’s been a while since we’ve shared a meal,” the Siren notes with an airy, absentminded sigh.

You don’t answer right away, too distracted in watching the water collect in droplets around his collarbones and shoulders. Mentally slapping yourself, you pull away with a frown and are instead caught in his intense gaze. Heat rises along your neck in embarrassment before you force yourself away to instead pick up the fork.

“It hasn’t been  _ that  _ long…” you mutter, twirling an especially long noodle. You focus with all your might to ignore his piercing stare. The way he hums lazily in response.

“I suppose you’re right.”

You continue twirling the fettuccine round and round, collecting up some of the rich, cheesy sauce before losing it and starting over. Sighing through your nose, you lift the bite and move to eat some. After placing the food in your mouth you chew carefully and take in the homey goodness that is freshly made pasta. It’s filling, as you expected, and immediately warms you when you swallow. It overwhelms you with a strange sense of nostalgia and an accompanying melancholy for a time long past. When you would make similar dishes with your mother, back before she changed.

When you finally lift your eyes from the plate, you find the Siren watching you carefully. He tilts his head a centimeter, causing a single strand of wet, black hair to fall against the bridge of his nose. You blink back at him for a moment before moving to answer his silent question, “This is fettuccine alfredo. You might like it, although there’s no meat in this dish…”

The Outsider’s gaze drops to your fork, still being twisted up idly in your hand, and he nods slowly.

“I’m omnivorous, much like any human,” he supplies, and you nod, stuttering a reply as you break yourself out of whatever had come over you just then.

“I know, I just- I always thought you liked meat.”

He doesn’t respond verbally but sends you a brief, weak smile instead. Wordlessly, he rises a few more inches from the water. Enough to support himself with one arm, while the other motions toward the fork in your grasp.

You quickly twirl up another bite, making sure to get some of the parmesan on top, before passing it over. Only when his fingers brush yours do you realize, bashfully, that he intends to share utensils with you. Not that he has an option, because you had forgotten to grab a second fork, but his indifference about such a detail surprises you...as well as flusters you.

Ignoring your conflicted state, the Outsider inspects the food before slowly opening his mouth to try it. You catch sight of his teeth, and how they are slightly pointed at the ends before they disappear while he chews.

You rub your fingers together nervously, inwardly hating how much you care about what he thinks. You know you should still be mad at him for how he acted the other night. You shouldn’t even be giving him attention like this. Yet you know you’re weaker than that. You have a soft spot for him that you just can’t explain. Maybe it’s the mysterious side of him that draws you in, how intelligent he is, the passing, cocky smirks, or maybe it’s just a side effect of the voodoo magic in your marked hand, but you do  _ care  _ about him, you realize. You care about what he thinks of the food- of you- and if he asked you to get something else for him, you would. If he asked you right now to release him back into the ocean...you  _ might. _

And that scares you a little.

It catches you off guard, because, given the circumstances, you  _ shouldn’t  _ care. He can be distant and snarky, even downright cruel in his remarks, and yet...and yet…

Why does it make you feel so warm and satisfied inside when he smiles back at you. As weak as the expression is, his genuine display of approval mirrors right back into you.

“So that’s how it tastes…” he smirks, looking past you thoughtful, “not bad.”

What is this feeling? You don’t understand it. It’s light and suffocatingly saccharine on your tongue and settles thickly on the back of your throat. For the first time, you realize your brain is truly yearning for something, but you can’t understand what. What is it about this simple interaction that affects you so? This is a pull you’ve never felt before.

Like the water filtering through the tank, your frustrations with him ebb away. Taking back the fork to eat another bite yourself, you run through all the possibilities.

Is he manipulating you somehow? Maybe mentally, through that connection, he explained before. He could easily influence your thoughts and actions through the mark if what he said was true. Yet, that doesn’t seem to be the case. What could you even do for him? Escape? You don’t think so, because he hasn’t mentioned or hinted once that he would like to return to the sea. He doesn’t seem to  _ want  _ anything really, besides messing with you occasionally or giving you a share of his magic powers. You still don’t know why he even did that, in fact, so maybe what you’re feeling is related somehow...maybe he isn’t telling you everything.

You fight back the urge to scoff. Well duh, of course he’s hiding things from you. He has been from the start...but maybe with time…

Your phone vibrating seems to shatter the tense... _ whatever  _ it is that’s settled around you both like a fog. You lean back out of his space and set the fork down to see who it is.

Elliot Fletcher’s name appears on the screen, along with a text message.

_ “Hello, love! Hope you had a productive day...Would you be free early next week for that dinner I mentioned?” _

Then, a few seconds later-

_ “This is Eliot, by the way.” _

And-

_ “You probably knew that from the context of my first text, sorry- again.” _

You smile and chuckle at his message, biting your lip as a gust of nerves overtakes you and blows away the peaceful warmth you had been feeling a moment ago. You contemplate your response, mentally recounting your work schedule, but are stopped by the sound of metal clinking on porcelain. When you lift your eyes from your phone, you find the Siren frowning. His eyes, having been trained to your face, blink once before lazily falling away into the food.

Not wanting to respond immediately anyway, you turn the device on silent and tuck it away back into your pocket. Without any hesitation, you lean forward again with a smile and motion to the silverware in his hand.

“It’s my turn.”

He stops and stares at your extended hand, and now more than ever do you wish you could read him at times like this. He has that serious, almost grave look again, that almost seems  _ conflicted  _ . Only a moment later, however, the strange micro-emotion passes, and he returns the fork to you with a passive nonchalance. The metaphorical dust settles and slowly you relax once more, now that the outside distractions are gone from sight.

When the touch of your hands linger a second longer than before, you pull away and force yourself to look anywhere but at him. After swallowing your bite, you wonder aloud one of many questions that have been brewing in your head. Anything to fill the warm silence.

“You seem to enjoy trying new foods, or is it just my company you like?”

It’s meant to be a genuine question, but after the final word leaves your mouth you notice how potentially  _ playful  _ that could be taken. A joke,  _ purely  _ , yet soon enough your brain is spirling away into dangerous territory.

For once, he takes mercy on your easily-flustered state. In fact, he looks away in thought, seemingly mystified himself. His brows lower into a light furrow and he lets out a long sigh through his nose. For a second you almost think he’s offended, but that’s just how foreign genuine confusion seems to appear on him. He’s always acting so  _ all-knowing  _ that for him to be stumped on...well  _ anything  _ , is strange. For a moment it’s just the soft bubbling of the water filters and muted  _ swooshing  _ of the Siren’s tail.

“Deep below the surface, close along the seafloor, food can be scarce,” he begins, distantly, and you wonder if he’s watching just that in a place beyond your line of sight, “just like any other desperate animal, sabotage is common even in Leviathan pods. Those who are the strongest survive and collect all that they can, even if it is at the expense of others.”

The Siren blinks, as if returning to himself, and for a moment he opens then closes his mouth, almost as if unsure of how to answer your query. Then, just as you think he’ll leave it at that, he continues, dark gaze locked with your own.

“In Leviathan culture, a shared resource, especially one as crucial and hard to come by as a warm, filling meal...is an act of  _ trust.” _

Blinking widely, you can only stare back into his eyes as that information sinks in. An act of trust...that certainly makes sense. If that’s the case, then perhaps that’s how he came to grow comfortable with you. That would explain why he always seemed so happy to see you holding a new tray, whether to share some breakfast or even just a snack while you work. Expanding on that, you know how thin and pale he is. If he did live at the bottom of the ocean then…

“Did any other Sirens of your pod share food?” you ask, gently. Genuinely curious.

He chuckles at that. A curt, almost bitter sound. Behind him, his long, jade-colored tail splashes once, and you feel a cold flash beneath the skin of your left hand.

“I come from no pod.” he supplies, indifferently, yet your heart sinks at the admission.

You straighten out and nudge yourself a little closer, subconsciously, “I...I didn’t know that, I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, tilting his head away, seemingly unmoved either way, “You could not have known.”

There’s a pause between you, as his implication sinks in. Does he mean to say he has no family waiting for him out in the ocean? Not even a friend? Surely he had to have come from somewhere he called home, yet...this would certainly explain some things. For example, perhaps this is why he hasn’t asked you to release him. Why he doesn’t seem to even want to go back to the sea. Yet, at the same time, you know he can’t be happy here. He doesn’t like humans, that much he has made clear.

You know one thing for sure: the thought of him surviving alone, hungry, and cold in the dark deeply upsets you.

Feeling a spark of determination, you pick up the fork again and swirl up another morsel. This time, you gather an extra noodle’s worth and swab up as much alfredo sauce as you can. You lift it towards him, gaining back his attention, which had drifted away in contemplation.

The Outsider lifts his blank expression, and you catch that fleeting, unknown emotion crossing his features once again. He frowns, but it’s not in disappointment. This solemn look is one born of genuine confusion. He almost looks guarded again, like how he was when you first started caring for him. All hard, cold looks and sharp flicks of his tail.

But then it melts a little. Just enough where you can distantly feel the ice cracking away through the empathetic link in your hand.

Slowly, he raises a hand, but this time he doesn’t take the utensil from you. Instead, he wraps his fingers around yours and guides it to his mouth. He eats the offered bite then releases you just as gingerly, as if you’re made of glass. It’s only a brief moment of contact, but the gesture still causes you to break out into a new shade of red. He watches intently as you do the same for yourself, even as you try and turn away nervously, suddenly self-conscious. For a second you wonder if he’d do the same for you, but you’re a little thankful he seems content enough to watch you eat, instead of outright feeding you. You don’t think you could keep your cool if he tried that.

You’ve been brave enough for one day.

You share the rest of your meal in quiet, with only the occasional light banter. He never mentions your phone or asks about work or the whales, and you don’t push on his origins or true intentions.

You and the Outsider are content, at this moment, to enjoy the warmth of  _ now.  _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our poor Reader is so emotionally constipated...not to mention the Outsider, too! But don't worry, Eliot Fletcher's importance will become clear in the future, and perhaps it will help inspire the Reader to realize what it is they're truly feeling...and where their heart really lies 💕 
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter as must as I did! I wasn't planning on making that end scene nearly as mushy but when when it comes to sweet sweet fluff+tension, I can't help myself.
> 
> A soft reminder, starting now all updates will be slower and unscheduled as I am now caught up and will be uploading as I finish / proofread... But the suspense between parts will be worth it...I have some very exciting, suspenseful, and even dark turns planned for you. See you soon, lovelies ✨


	20. Illusions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello beautiful readers, here's the update you've been waiting oh-so-patiently for (I love you all, thank you again for sticking around 💕) Originally, where this chapter ended would have been the /half-way/ point...but this was at 11,000+ words and it felt like a good stopping point since a lot happens in this one.
> 
> So, enough of my rambling, please enjoy some magic shenanigans <3

\- As you practice using magic more and more you can begin to feel changes within yourself. You can hear songs from carved bones and understand ancient words on gusts of wind. As much as he’s gifted you, you can’t help but wonder...what isn’t the Siren telling you? -

After working this long at Empire Industries, you’d think that, by now, you’d have gotten used to the morning schedule. Then again, you’ve never been much of a morning person. The hours before noon have been mostly saved for your own respite. Recovery time after staying up late the night before. Even during your time as a student, you remember having trouble pulling yourself out of bed just to make it to class. They say old habits are the hardest to break, and your tendency to ruin a perfectly fine sleep schedule is no different. Even if they hooked you up to an IV of straight caffeine you doubt it would do much to cure your morning slog. As much of a perfectionist as you are, schedules just aren’t your thing.

It’s unfortunate then that today you won’t be caught late because of your own faults, but that of another troublesome employee.

You peer carefully around the corner of the visitor’s center hallway once more, a disgruntled glare on your face. Irene Rose chats away, unbothered and unaware, with two of her henchmen; Edie and two other boys you don’t know. Probably interns from another department. Honestly, you couldn’t care less who they are, just that they move on already so you can sneak by and go to work.

Your eyes flicker towards the clock on the opposing wall, mocking you with each echoing click of its hands. Each minute that passes only serves to make you more irate, both with Irene and yourself.

You have an early meeting today with Beatrice Gray, the strict Director of Engineering, then another just after with the Head of Animal Training. You certainly expect to be chewed out for tardiness by the former, but as for the latter you’ve yet to meet him. Leo Butler has been away in Tyvia for official company business and has finally returned to help out with the workload. You’re hoping he’s not as cutthroat as Director Gray, but regardless you want to make a good impression. He’ll be working with you directly now, after all.

If only you weren’t stuck behind this wall, worrying your lip as you debate your options. This main hallway is the only one that leads to the Rehabilitation center, unless you want to walk around the outside of the building, of course- which is definitely not happening.

You listen in agony as the group laughs over a joke or quip before an idea suddenly comes to you.

Well, now you just feel silly...why hasn’t this occurred to you sooner? Granted, you’ve been very busy lately with almost no time to practice, but...no time like the present, you suppose.

Recounting on your past attempts, both purposeful and accidental, you extend your fingers and concentrate. You take a long, deep breath to control your airflow, and on each outtake, you try and dip your fingers into the invisible stream. Into the world just beyond the mirror of ours. It takes a full minute of breathing and pure focus. It’s difficult at first, with the chatter of the others around the corner, but finally, you manage it.

You flinch in half-surprise as the cold rush of electricity connects with your fingers, echoing back against the mark like raindrops to the ocean’s surface. Those ripples travel through your arm and up throughout your body, faster and faster as it gains momentum. On your next inhale, you open your eyes, feeling strangely at peace with his magic humming behind your eyes.

Tapping into the Outsider’s powers is easy for you, but actually willing it into action is the tricky part. From the scant times you’ve used it, you know it takes proper concentration. You think hard about what you want from it and clench your fist. Instead of the desired effect, it simply shocks you. This time you jerk with the pain of it, a curse stuck between clenched teeth, and you huff in annoyance.

_ ‘You don’t force the Void into submission, no one can- not even me,’  _ a voice seems to whisper just out of sight, so subconscious you barely notice the connection,  _ ‘It’s already inside you, watching you like it does everyone else...you simply wield the tool to direct it.’ _

Taking his lofty advice with a harsh exhale, you let up on the pressure and immediately the pain dissipates. Instead of forcing it to do what you want, you try instead to simply think of what you want. Like waiting for a leaf to flow downstream, you watch for the right moment then grasp it.

Effortlessly, the brightness seeps through the skin of your hand and extends itself outward and around your form. With a satisfying hum and blink, you find yourself completely transparent. Invisible to the eyes of others.

“Huh…he was right.” you mutter, no more than a breath of a chuckle.

There’s an exciting nervousness about using magic. You can’t quite describe just how it feels but it’s just... _ right.  _ Like it molds perfectly to you. Cradling you. You can’t explain why but you just have an affinity for it, you suppose. Would magic feel the same for every siren, or marked human (assuming there are others like you)?

Well, there’s unfortunately no time to dwell on such ideas. You have unruly employees to avoid.

Irene has since settled into a debate of her own and you use the distraction to step by. Thankfully you wore flat shoes today, otherwise your boots might have made more obvious noise. Yet, even as you move quickly and efficiently past them, still unaware of your presence, you can’t help but eavesdrop.

“I mean seriously, anytime you get tired of all this busywork, just find me.” Irene waves a confident hand, smiling slyly as she does so, “I have the Director under my thumb- I leave whenever I want!”

Rolling your eyes, you find yourself slowing to listen, despite knowing these powers don’t last forever.

“I saw you just  _ walk out  _ yesterday,” one of the nameless interns asks with wide eyes, “they didn’t even say anything!”

“Oh, I know,” Edie giggles, ever the ass-kisser, “the Director was so  _ pale-  _ !”

At the group’s resounding chuckles, Irene picks back up on her story, “They barely even spoke- not as it mattered,” she rolls her eyes and shakes her head as if pitying you,  _ “‘I-Irene, y-y-you haven’t b-been in much recently-“  _ she stutters in what you can only assume is a (shitty) impersonation of you,  _ “we’re s-swamped with the w-w-whales!’” _

When the group falls into giggles, it only serves to fuel the angry blush behind your cheeks. You don’t stutter like that- and you weren’t  _ pale  _ or  _ terrified _ like they’re making you out to be!

“So,” one of the unfamiliar interns asks through his subsiding laughter, “how did you do it? What’d you do?”

“We trashed their office-  _ ow!” _

Irene quickly silences Edie with a sharp kick to the knee, causing her to flinch in pain, “Shut up, Edie-“ Irene hisses, then turns back with a smile towards the others.

“I can’t say. Not  _ yet _ at least, but trust me when I say I have dirt on them from a good source...they aren’t nearly as hot as they think they are.”

You have to grit your teeth to keep a huff from escaping you. What a ridiculous notion- you’ve never thought yourself above her or anyone else in the office. Irene is only saying that because she feels inferior beside you. Whether that’s due to your similar age or another unknown reason, you don’t know, but having her running around spreading lies about you (or more terrifying a possibility,  _ the truth) _ deeply upsets you. There’s still the question of how and  _ where  _ she learned of your origins. Could she know someone with access to such sensitive information like your birth certificate? That seems like a stretch, but you can’t cross it off.

“I’ll get them fired as soon as I earn the rest of my work-study credits, then maybe I’ll get something on Emily…could be fun having the CEO on a tight leash.”

The way she says it, with blunt malicious intent, makes your blood boil. Your hand, already thrumming with energy, pulses painfully and you grit your teeth to ignore it.

Irene Rose can say whatever she wants about you, but _ no one _ hurts Emily.

But what can you do? You’re invisible and you can’t just pop out and punch her like you desperately crave.

So you get an idea. A risky idea, but if it works it would be  _ hilarious  _ and  _ satisfying. _

As she continues monologuing on, you take careful steps to her side before kneeling. With quick, shaking fingers you reach for her shoes and begin weaving the laces together. You move as efficiently as possible while your heart beats away in your chest like a caged bird. You lean as far as you’re comfortable over your work, without risking bumping into her, all the while aware that it would only wake one downward glance to be found out.

“My father has connections all across Dunwall,” she drones and you can imagine she’s inspecting her nails cooly under the fluorescent hall lights, “I called in a favor to city hall, easy.”

Just as you finish your knot and you begin to pull away, your marked hand flares up, and the edges of your vision begin to blur. Light meshes together, like a visual headache. Without being told you know your powers are waning. You can’t stay invisible forever. You suppose your body can only be encased in his magic for so long before taking actual damage.

Shaking your head, you fight the urge to gasp for breath and slip away towards the lab. It’s only when the tail of your coat has  _ just barely  _ disappeared around the corner with you that the mark fizzles out and, with a pulse that travels throughout your whole body, you gasp. It hurts like you’ve been struck straight to the chest, but you manage to keep upright.

_ ‘Void-voodoo is temporary,’  _ you think with a sputter and barely withheld cough,  _ ‘got it.’ _

“Did you hear something?” One of the interns asks and you freeze. There are footsteps but instead of Irene’s mocking laugh, a different sound fills the air.

A loud, hard  _ smack! _ Echoes off the walls, followed by a rather undignified grunt from Irene, you assume. There’s a gasp from her companions then silence.

You dare peek around the corner- just one eye- and are rewarded with the sight of Irene Rose face-first on the floor. Her arms are tucked under her rigidly, and awkwardly. As if she attempted to catch herself but wasn’t able to realize it in time.

Ever so slowly, she lifts her head, an open-mouthed look of anger and disbelief. She gets into a kneeling position, stopping briefly to look down at her shoelaces, which have been knotted into a quaint- yet  _ sturdy- _ bow. She scoffs once and raises a hand to her nose, which is already dripping a bright crimson out one nostril.

She blinks, then her brows furrow and she turns red (that or it’s the blood rushing to her face post-impact).

_ “Fuck!”  _ she curses venomously into the air.

The two interns you aren’t familiar with share a glance before twin shit-eating grins rise to their faces. You can’t help but smile yourself, feeling confident and unusually smug at the sight of Irene attempting to get to her feet clumsily. She huffs and scrambles to untie her shoes, clawing like a trapped animal. It tugs a choked laugh from you, caught barely by your hand.

Edie attempts to help her but is only shoved away as Irene stands on her own. She glares hard at the group, lip pulled into a snarl as she wipes a hand under her beet-red nose. That’s when you turn on your heel and begin to make your way towards Rehabilitation, but not without hearing Irene’s final hiss as she silences the chuckling interns with one final,

_ “Shut the fuck up!” _

…

Your mischievous mirth lasts until you reach the doors of the laboratory. No more than a second after you enter, cold eyes are set on you and almost instantly you feel self-conscious.

Beatrice Gray gives you a once over from across the room, one lip lifting into a sneer- as if you’ve offended her somehow.

One glance at the clock and you immediately understand why.

If there’s one thing you’ve pinned down about the strict, abrasive woman, it’s that Director Gray is very  _ punctual. _

And you are, once again, very  _ late. _

“Records?” she asks, opening and closing her hand as if to say, ' _give me that, and_ _where the hell have you been?'_

“Uh, yes,” you stammer, still smiling from your little stunt with Irene in the hallway, and Beatrice sighs.

“And wipe that grin off your face.”

Maybe you’re just bolder today, or perhaps it's the magic talking, but you’re feeling more confident than usual. More powerful. So with a tilt of your head, you hand her the documents in question from your bag, “Most people are happy to see their boss in a good mood, Miss Gray.”

The Director of Engineering scoffs and takes the proper notes from you with an eye roll, “I’ve told you before and I’ll say it again: you are not my boss. Miss Kaldwin is.”

Her words are selected to be biting, but her tone has lost some of its serrated edges. Perhaps this is what surprise looks like for her? She probably didn’t expect you to respond in any way other than submissive. Either way, you’re glad her attention has been pulled from you to the papers in her hands, which she shuffles quickly.

A pair of hands on either shoulder causes you to flinch, and a smiling face peers over one side in response.

“Hello, love,” Eliot beams, squeezing once before letting go and stepping away, as if in apology for startling you.

Beatrice doesn’t look up from her rapid scanning of the documents you gave her, but she frowns nonetheless as she echos, _ “Love?” _

Eliot’s polite smile doesn’t crack. If anything it grows, even as he sends a cool wink in your direction.

“Don’t pay it any mind, Beatrice, it’s not an emotion you possess.”

Instead of bristling, Director Gray  _ smiles _ \- or it’s more of a cold smirk. She laughs briefly, a cold and sharp sound you imagine goes mostly unused, before glaring back at him.

“Everything’s a game to you, isn’t it, Eliot?” she asks, cryptically, but Eliot only tilts his head in response.

“Don’t you have work to do?” he ponders aloud and finally Beatrice stops her speed reading. The two share a long look, and you shift on your heels awkwardly until the moment passes.

Beatrice Gray glances your way once then back to Eliot. She scoffs with a ghost of a smile, “Directors…” she collects herself then moves to leave without another word. You stare after her, brows furrowed, as you try and grapple with what just happened. You can’t help but feel like you just missed something really obvious. Like an inside joke you haven’t been let in on.

Eliot sighs and steps back into your view with an apologetic smile, “I’d apologize for her behavior, but she’ll just come back and make another scene twice as worse.”

You force up a polite smile of your own, despite still feeling so uneasy and confused, “You’ve known her longer than I have. I’ll take your word for it.”

Director Fletcher hums thoughtfully and crosses his arms to lean in closer. The proximity makes you flush in response, just out of habit, yet he doesn’t do anything but watch you quietly.

“Would you like to take your lunch with me?” He asks, randomly- although you suppose it’s not random if he is now your...boyfriend. It’s still new and strange on your tongue, but that is what he is to you now.

So you smile a little wider (because you should allow yourself to be excited for once- shouldn’t you?) and nod, “I would like that...what are you thinking?”

Eliot hops back to his previous position, boyish grin brighter than ever, “Brilliant! How about something more quiet and personal...your office alright?”

“Sure!” you nod, fingers fidgeting with the leather strap of your messenger bag, “I’ll text you around noon..?”

With a precise nudge to his glasses, Eliot nods, “Sounds perfect to me.”

A few more pleasantries are exchanged before the Head Biologist makes a swift, almost giddy exit. You leave to continue with your own busy schedule, through the laboratories and into the several rooms of Rehabilitation.

You still have a meeting with Empire’s resident animal therapist and head caretaker, but he’s nowhere to be found. His office, a quaint room built off the medical wing, is filled with boxes yet to be unpacked, but no Leo. You wander and ask around as you go, following his traces through word of mouth alone until you find yourself in the docking area of all places. Here the facility receives near-daily shipments containing food for the animals, machinery for Engineering, science and biology equipment- all sorts of things Empire uses to stay such a prominent and well-oiled company.

You’ve seen one picture of him, presented to you by Emily just this morning, but that’s all you have to go on. You have no idea what he’ll be like or how he’ll react to your tardiness. Why did he wander off in this direction, you wonder? Maybe he grew tired of waiting for you in his office and left in a huff- at least, you hope that’s not the case. You actively avoid glancing at the wall-mounted clock as you enter the docking hub, afraid of just how late you are.

As you walk further down the walkway at the center of the long, warehouse-like building, you take in the hustle of its inner worker bees. People in uniforms made for movement and dirty work scurry around lifting boxes, calling out to moving trucks, and otherwise working tirelessly to keep this place organized and efficient. Some people glance your way as you pass, most keeping a stoic face but others lifting a brow or mumbling to their peers in confusion. You doubt Emily has ever been in this building, much less any of the other Directors and higher-ups. You can easily see how you look out of place with your stark white lab coat and golden insignia of Empire’s logo. Despite the uncomfortable burning their stares leave on your skin, you push on as quickly and casually as possible, as not to drag even more attention to yourself.

The further you get into the facility the more aware you become of a ringing in your ears. Distant but high pitched. Just barely dancing over your head. You dismiss it as a side effect of all the noise bouncing off the walls and instead approach a group of four workers, sitting with beers as they enjoy their break over a game of cards. They’re smiling and laughing at something, but it quickly subsides as you grow near. A bulky man with a square face blinks your way surprised before he nudges the woman beside him. They all turn to watch you, expectant.

Trying to appear as small as possible, you smile and clasp your hands together, “Good morning, I’m looking for Dr. Butler, has anyone seen him around?”

As soon as they know you’re not there to scold any of them, two of the workers return to their drinks and cards. Thankfully, the woman nods and answers you, “Yeah, saw’m helpin’ out in the back. Signin’ off on a shipment.”

Vague, but helpful all the same. You smile again and point in the general direction of what you assume  _ ‘the back’  _ means and the woman nods twice more.

“Just look for the golden hair, can’t miss that mane anywhere.” she chuckles, and you nod along with a quiet,  _ ‘thanks.’ _

Ignoring their lingering looks, you hurry in the direction you’ve been given, careful to avoid getting in the way of anyone working the floor. That’s easy enough, given the way everyone seems to want nothing to do with you (which is unfortunate and you make a mental note to ask Emily about it later- maybe you could throw a little party for all the departments once the gala was over? A little mingling never hurt anyone and it would boost morale inside the company). Yet, the closer to the back of storage as you get, the worse the ringing in your ears becomes. You rub your ears with an annoyed frown and glance around as you go, but you can’t seem to find where it’s coming from. The sound seems to be echoing strangely, not coming from one specific direction, per se. Narrowing your eyes, you continue to push forward despite being more and more distracted.

What  _ is  _ that? Before you assumed it to be some sort of machinery or an amalgamation of noise (a lot of different materials pass-through this warehouse, after all), but the closer you get the more distinct the sound becomes.

No, it’s not so much noise as it is a... _ song?  _ It’s high pitched and vibrating through the air, like an unseen pressure, but when you strain your ears it sounds almost like a voice- or maybe a combination of voices? Whispers on a stale wind. An old tune you know you’ve never heard before, but find familiar all the same. Like a music box sitting on the ocean’s surface, it raises and lowers in time, singing forever onward.

The corner of the warehouse you look up to find yourself in is unbearably quiet and empty. Had you wandered while lost in thought? The song increases when you seem to get closer within its radius, and by now it’s near  _ deafening _ .

What is that noise? You need it to stop, but you also need to find it, that’s all you know. Deep within your chest is matching energy, seeping out through your skin as if tugging you in its direction. Your head thrums heavily in time with the old song, and you find yourself searching more desperately- just to hold it- to  _ make it stop! _

Then, you spot its hiding place. A set of crates hidden behind one of the countless ceiling-high shelves, stocked full of other supplies. One of the smaller ones in the back, shoved against the wall, is cracked open on one end. From the container, you hear the sound the strongest. As if it senses your approach, the song inside grows in volume. It becomes near erratic and almost chaotic.  _ Desperate _ to be found.

Urged on purely by an instinct you didn’t know you had, you pull the lid away and gaze inside. Your hand slowly follows, grasping the thing, and just as your fingertips make contact with it...

...the noise stops.

Once again, you find yourself in the warehouse, hidden away by the crates and clutter, with only the sounds of workers and machinery- oblivious to the strange singing stone you now hold in your palm.

At least, it  _ was  _ singing. Now it sits content in your hand as if it wasn’t just calling out to you.

Speaking of, you find yourself staring wide-eyed at the very same insignia- the mark of the Outsider- etched into the stone. It’s an exact match, down to each carefully drawn line. If that wasn’t mysterious enough, you’re certain now that the pull you felt before is the same you feel now, softly emanating from within. The same magic that runs through the blood of Sirens.

The rounded stone is cold beneath your fingers, cracked with signs of age and wear, with a metal clasp on one end that’s rusted at the edges. Water damage you can only assume, after catching the faint tinges of sea salt on the air. The object is drenched in the smell of salt and rock. The deep sea. You don’t know what this is, but it’s powerful and important.

Which leads to your next question: where did this come from?

The underground trade of heretical items and artifacts is no secret. As taboo as the Abbey makes the Void and Void-touched items out to be, there’s always someone else willing to take the chance. You’ve heard rumors yourself. Of sailors using scraps of enchanted bone to keep warm through hurricanes or witches who use arcane elixirs to wear the faces of their enemies. It all seemed so... _ outside  _ your little pocket of the world.

But then you befriended a Siren...and you suppose you shouldn’t be surprised anymore…

Someone obviously left this here, probably to come back for later or perhaps to trade during work hours. The artifact fits perfectly in your hand, where your fingers just barely wrap around the thing, so it’d be easy to just shuffle through one’s pockets into another’s. You really shouldn’t take it then…

But you can’t help yourself.

You slide it into your bag, biting your lip the whole while as you curse your insatiable curiosity. It’s that and also the fact that your research, as of late, has extended not just to the realm of science but to the arcane as well. Now that you know the virus affecting the whales and ripping holes in reality itself is not of this world, you’ve been hoping that perhaps there’s a  _ magical  _ solution, if not a scientific one. Maybe collecting Void-touched artifacts will prove useful. The hard part is convincing the Outsider to humor you long enough to give real answers.

Maybe you can just bribe him with food? He seemed to love that last night-

“You lost?” A voice asks from a few paces behind you and you jump, heart stuttering in surprise.

Spinning around with wide eyes you come face to face with the very man you set out to find. Leo Butler, head of Animal Training and Empire’s most trusted veterinarian. He looks nearly identical to his employee picture. His golden hair seemed long in the photo, but in person, you can see he’s already grown it out just beyond his shoulders. That, combined with the squared jawline, big, rounded brown eyes, and his bulky form- and suddenly his namesake makes much more sense. You’d heard of people comparing him to a great Lion, but it took you being in his presence to fully grasp the reference. He blinks widely back at you before a sheepish smile rises on his face.

“Ah, Head Director, forgive me! I didn’t mean to startle ya!” He chuckles heartily, the deep tones of his voice easily reaching you even from several feet away.

You force yourself to smile, stepping forward as you try your best to ignore the new weight in your bag, “Director Leo Butler?”

He raises a muscled arm and scratches at the back of his neck, “Haven’t been a  _ director  _ in quite some time, ‘m afraid,” he grins thankfully without any hint of malice, “Leo is fine, but Doctor if you must.”

“Oh,” you sound, flushing in embarrassment, “well it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” you attempt to grapple back onto the conversation with a light bow. The gesture only serves to make Leo laugh.

“Well aren’t you just a peach!” he nods twice, still chuckling, as he calms himself and grins, “You’re actin’ mighty polite for someone of your position.”

“I’m sorry..?” you inquire, tilting your head a centimeter.

Leo shuffles on his feet before motioning for you to follow, “I’m the one who forgot about our meeting, Head Director. Why don’t we go back to my office n’ chat?” He stumbles briefly, shooting you a cautious glance over his shoulder, “Unless o’ course it’s too late..?”

You quickly shake your head, smiling warmly in an attempt to reassure him, “No, no, I can squeeze it in.”

Beaming gratefully, the man sets off to lead you towards his office, and inwardly you sigh in relief. Truthfully it had been  _ you  _ who was late, but it seems Leo had lost himself in his work and assumed the opposite. You weren’t going to admit to it, but obviously, you wouldn’t punish him either. So, politely as possible, you follow him back, making small talk along the way.

“So, how was Tyvia?” you ask after a lapse of quiet walking, save only for the occasional smiles and waves passerby shoot you and Leo.

_ “Cold.”  _ he jests before trailing off in a fit of deep chuckles, “actually it was great! I was happy to help the northern branch. They have a rehab center that’s much more diverse than here, but of the arctic variety, o’ course!”

Leo Butler has been working for Empire Industries long before you or even Turnbull (the old Head Director now mia) for that matter. Supposedly, Jessamine hired him while out on a business trip to Morely. According to gossip, he had impressed the former CEO with his skills as a ship hand, at the time. You’ve heard different versions of the tale from both your peers and Corvo himself, but all you know is that there was some incident with a wild animal out at sea, and Leo Butler was the only one able to diffuse the situation to keep both parties afloat and content. Apparently, he hadn’t come from much either, which is something you would have in common, should the rumors be true. If that is the case, you can’t help but be a little excited to make a connection with another colleague with similar origins as you.

Thankfully, he has a bright personality it seems, given the way he just as heartily waves back to each person we cross. It’s such a stark difference from how quiet these hallways typically are that you almost forget that you should wave, too. He truly is a lion of a man, but he lacks the claws of one- at least, from what you’ve seen so far.

Yes,  _ gentle giant _ is definitely the term you would use to describe the Head of Animal Training. Especially as you watch him step inside his office and immediately hop over boxes to clear a way for you, as efficiently as possible. All the while he holds a sheepish smile on his bearded face.

“Please, sit!” He grins, holding out a chair for you across his desk, which still has a thin layer of dust on top. You seat yourself with a gentle  _ ‘thank you’  _ before crossing your arms in your lap.

Leo seats himself across, still towering over you even at this level, “So, the whales.”

You sigh and nod, gloved fingers lacing together as if to prepare you for the same conversation you’ve had with every other Director.

“How much has Emily filled you in on?”

He raises a finger and scratches at the corner of his mouth, pondering, “Miss Kaldwin told me enough to catch me up...but actually, I already had my own suspicions that something had happened…”

You furrow your brows, anxiously, but are caught distracted as you try to hear him out.

There’s more of that damn ringing…

This time the noise is much loftier of a song. Almost like the distant colliding of seafoam, you can vaguely hear it shuffling and waving through the air, calling to you. It doesn’t yell as desperately as the rock from before had, but it’s still distracting nonetheless. You try to scan around the room with your eyes as nonchalantly as possible, but Leo tilts his way into your view, worriedly.

“Director, are you alright?” He tries softly, and you startle to attention.

“Yes, I’m just...a little absentminded lately, I’m sorry-“ you begin to apologize, embarrassed when Leo’s eyes widen and he waves a hand.

“No no, don’t you apologize,” he shakes his head, “I can’t imagine, bein’ in your position…”

He sighs and looks back towards the window, “Especially after hearing more bad news…”

_ “More?” _ You prompt, cursing the obvious weakness in your tone, and Leo’s great shoulders hunch forward almost apologetically.

“I’ve only told Miss Kaldwin so far,” he begins carefully, finally pulling his gaze back to you, “but there have been sick whales appearing up north now, too.”

The dead, heavy silence that fills the room is broken to you only by your own beating heart, and the low song that still calls to you from around the room. An unseen chill settles on your neck and you can only shake your head in disbelief.

“This is not good.” you mutter and Leo hums in agreement, however, you know the situation is much worse than he or anyone else realizes.

More sick whales mean more tips in the balance between this world and the Void which encompasses it. From what you’ve learned from the Outsider, whales are much like windows to the Void. The only way to truly see into the great beyond is through their eyes. As the bridges between, they’re the first who will grow sick and die, then the world will follow suit. Enough wear and tear in this reality and...you shudder to think of that outcome.

You lift your gaze and meet Leo’s steadily, “How bad is it?”

He blinks back at you, the serious look on his face foreign even though you’ve only known him for at least a half-hour, “Actually, not nearly as bad as here...no deaths yet, but it’s getting harder to hide from the people, ‘m afraid.”

You sigh, lifting a cold hand to nudge away a stray hair, “Especially with the Abbey digging their heels in at every turn.”

Leo nods, solemnly, “That’s the other issue, o’ course.” He sighs long and deep, exhausted as he leans back in his chair, “the Abbey of the Everyman is growing restless it seems. You watch the news lately?”

You shake your head and he continues, “I can’t blame ya...Well, the High Overseer, Khulan, is spread pretty thin with all of Whitecliff bein’ cut in two.” He spies your confused look, so he immediately clarifies, “Half of em’ want to storm Empire Industries on account of heresy, while the other half are stubborn to keep sleepin’ dogs lie, as it were.”

Frowning to yourself, you can only imagine that Khulan is hanging by a thread, with Hadwin Alcott muttering darkly in his other ear. The man had it out for you, that much you could see from meeting his gaze just once at the press conference. If a person could embody paranoia, Alcott was certainly that man. How he had become the Vice Overseer and Khulan’s right-hand man you have no clue, but if you had to guess, like any other politics, it’s self-serving in nature.

“Damn,” you can only manage, unsure of what else to say. Normally you’d refrain from cursing in front of another employee, but Leo’s calm and friendly demeanor has made you feel shockingly comfortable in his presence. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to even acknowledge the slip in composure. He just nods away, scowling somewhere behind you.

“Aye...arrogant bastards,” he grits his teeth, the irritation contrasting his happy mood just a moment ago, “they don’t care what happens to the animals, just who else they can use as a step stool. They’d gladly reveal the virus if it meant gaining more supporters through fear alone…”

You stare blankly at the normally jovial man, a bit at a loss for words, and when he finally returns his attention to you he pales immediately. Sitting up straight, Leo frowns, “Oh, apologies Director, I-I should’ve checked if you were  _ religious..?” _

You can’t help but sneer in distaste, as you wave both your hands in dismissal, “I am in no way affiliated with the Church of the Everyman- by the Void,  _ no-!” _

Immediately, Leo Butler relaxes, his chest falling in what you can assume is a great sigh of relief. For once, you find yourself feeling free to be casual in his presence, and so you let one last curse slip through your lips- almost hesitantly.

_ “Fuck ‘em.” _ you mutter.

Leo’s eyes blink widely for a moment before he snorts once, then loudly claps a hand on the desk. You jump, startled, as the mountain of a man falls into deep, raucous laughter. It’s such a genuine sound that even you find yourself chuckling at his reaction alone. It takes a full minute before he can begin to collect himself, grinning down at you.

“Head Director,” he laughs, “I have a feelin’ we're gonna work together just fine!”

Grinning yourself, with just a hint of an embarrassed blush, you nod gratefully, “I think so, too...now, I hear you have ideas on physical therapy for the whales?”

~ ~ ~

_ “That,”  _ the Outsider drawls, “is a rune,”

You furrow your brows as you settle more comfortably on the tank’s overarching catwalk, turning the artifact you found this morning- the  _ rune _ \- in your hand. Absently, you run the fingers of your marked, left hand over the matching symbol engraved there. As if keening beneath your soft touch, the magic residing within beats once, echoing through your hand. Without lifting your gaze to meet his, you turn it again, searching for any other hidden details you may have glossed over.

“I’ve heard of enchanted objects, but nothing like this…” you mutter, recalling some of the many dark tomes you’ve begun to read since becoming the Siren’s caretaker. There’s plenty of examples of objects being imbued with Void, but this feels different...stronger…

“Runes are different,” the Siren amends, resting carelessly on the edge with his arms propped up beneath him. His eyes, half-lidded, trace your own hand’s movements, “Trinkets such as bone charms are  _ gifted _ magical properties through arcane practices...runes are made from whalebone, so they are already full of it.”

You pale, blinking down at the rune as you nearly toss the thing into the tank, “W-whale  _ bones?” _

Lifting your disgusted gaze you find the Outsider smirking almost gleefully, at your expense of course.

“They have many more uses, because of this.”

He pauses then, unblinking, as you await his next suggestion, but when it doesn’t come you narrow your eyes impatiently. 

“Are you going to enlighten me, then?”

Breaking his neutral mask, the Siren lets out a sharp  _ tsk  _ of a scoff, yet remains otherwise emotionless as always, “I find it much more entertaining to watch you experiment first.”

Pouting, you punish him the only way you can: by turning away and denying him the attention you know he craves. You aren’t exactly keen on touching the carved bones of the very animals you care for, but if he says it’ll provide you with  _ something… _

Your first thought is to charge some of your magic into the rune. However, before you can even muster it into your palm, the magic bounces back. You hit a wall immediately and the reverb of energy shocks you, causing you to flinch in shock. Like trying to swim up a waterfall, you were only forced back out and with much more force than you anticipated. 

Judging by the look your enigmatic friend gives you, that’s not its intended purpose.

Sighing away any sort of retort, you instead focus on doing the opposite. You breathe in and out, using the exhale as a means to move the magic from your hand  _ around  _ the rune rather than into it. At first, your energy simply melts around it, but with a satisfying  _ click _ you feel something merge, and suddenly it’s breaking open and coursing through your veins.

It doesn’t hurt, but it’s not wholly comfortable either. It’s that same cold lightning that surges up your fingertips and into the mark. Resonating there, the symbol flares brightly before steadily fading back into a regular, unsuspecting tattoo. The adrenaline left in its wake keeps your heart racing long after you’ve absorbed... _ whatever  _ that was.

You don’t know what just happened but you feel more...powerful _.  _ Stronger.  _ Rejuvenated _ even.

The Siren hums to himself in thought, tail splashing some distance away.

“You take to it easy,” he muses but doesn’t elaborate further.

Tilting your head you note that the rune has gone completely silent. Seemingly dormant once more. Before, it had at least made some noise if you strained hard enough, but it feels so far away now. Even the gentle pulsing of magic from within has dimmed significantly.

“I heard others, too,” you mumble, meeting his gaze head-on curiously, “but they weren’t as loud...or strong.”

He blinks slowly at you, a distant look in his eye, “As a side effect of being Void-bound, you might begin to  _ hear _ such objects. Like runes and b _ one charms- _ that’s what you heard in Leo Butler’s office.”

“How did you know-“

The completely valid question dies on your tongue however as the Siren suddenly braces himself against the walkway. With a bit of exertion, he heaves himself up and out of the water. He’s never gotten up to sit beside you on the same level before, so you’re stunned silent. You can only watch as he settles stiffly beside you, not touching but close enough to reach if you lean forward. As composed as his upper half is, the lower section seems to betray him as his long, iridescent tail flicks and sways against the surface- out of nervousness or anxiety, you can’t be sure. You can never know with the smug mask he always seems to wear.

He breaks the silence by taking your hand in his own. This time you’re so acutely aware of his movements that you keep from flinching at his icy touch, but it still catches you off guard. His fingers trace over the mark, and you catch the way his vague expression of disinterest changes to contentment then into discomfort, all in just a fraction of a second. Opposing emotions that are too fleeting to be picked apart.

You wonder for the first time, with a bit of anxiety, whether or not he regrets giving you his mark.

Yet, he doesn’t drop your hand, sneer, or even meet your gaze at all. He just seems to lose himself in thought. That typical 1,000-yard stare you’ve come to recognize on his features. Speaking of, when you’re this close you can see him so clearly. You are reminded just how beautiful and nearly ethereal Sirens are. He looks human, but his eyes are pitch dark all around and his skin is always hypothermic to the touch. His face is angular, hiding away a set of teeth with pointed ends for hunting and tearing through fish meat. For every familiar trait, you find a complimentary one, and instead of frightening you as he should, you can’t help but be pulled ever deeper into him and his ever-complicating mystery.

“It would serve you well,” he breathes, still seeing far, far away, “to follow their calls. Bone charms grant a variety of boons to the holder, but the  _ runes  _ obey only the marked. They’ll make you stronger and grant you new abilities.”

The Outsider lifts your hand with one of his own, while the free one drags down your pulse line, tracing the veins there with a featherlight touch. You can only watch, limp and mesmerized, with the distant hope that he won’t feel how much your heart is racing. You can’t fathom why, of course, but it would be embarrassing for him to think you have no control over your body.

“I...could do other things?” you ask, and your voice seems to snap him back into the age you’re currently occupying, “Like besides invisibility or that...hardening of the hands-  _ thing?” _

Despite his conflicted mood, he chuckles at your butchered description of said ability. Of course, he knows you’re referring to when he (albeit briefly) left you dangling from a rock by only your hands- which had been encased in black obsidian, much like claws. You don’t appreciate the belittling smirk he shoots you, however, and you retaliate with a glare. He continues to pick on you, despite knowing how alien all of this is for you. To give yourself some credit, you’ve figured most of this Void-bound stuff out on your own, with only vague hints from him. What do you get in return (apart from the powers themselves, obviously)? Endless deprecating comments against you for the sake of  _ his  _ entertainment.

Yet, it only makes you more determined to exceed his expectations, to your frustration.

He doesn’t speak on it anymore, and instead changes the scene you find yourselves in with the flick of his tail. One moment you’re staring back into his eyes in the manor vault and the next, you’re back in the endless Void.

You doubt you’ll ever get used to the transition. There’s barely any warning beforehand, other than the hairs on your neck standing up straight and the frigid breeze that always proceeds it. You blink once and when they open again, it’s just  _ there.  _ Where you can see it.

You’re alone this time in the middle of a large, obsidian island. One of the thousands floating in this darkness. Over the horizon, a dead whale passes by, unaffected yet covered in dark, black scars. A victim of the virus, no doubt. You collect yourself enough to turn away and instead stand determined.

Time for another of his annoying experiments.

You can feel his eyes on you- from no particular direction, he’s just  _ everywhere-  _ when he speaks next on the breeze, his voice carrying with an echo.

_ “Runes possess as much potential as the Void is endless...now that you’ve absorbed its knowledge, call it into something new.” _

You take in a slow deep breath before blowing it out, the air turning cold as soon as it leaves your lips. Shivering, you look up and across the endless, starless sky- ever in a state of twilight.

“You know, I have other things to do besides amuse you,” you huff, “like helping the whales? You remember...the weak points from which the Void is leaking through?”

He doesn’t dignify you with a response, but just by flexing your fingers, you can feel his displeasure through your empathetic link. It’s enough to tell you that he is very aware of this fact. You can only hope that by experimenting with magic, something will be revealed to help you beat back this virus. You are on a tight schedule, however, so his lax attitude about everything isn’t exactly comforting.

You  _ would  _ just ignore him and walk away but...until you can figure out how to leave the Void at will as he does, you are-  _ ironically- _ his prisoner.

Rolling your eyes you raise your left, marked hand and clench it tightly. You bite your lip as the magic flares to life almost instantaneously at your whim. A cold rush encases your fist, before pulsing away softly and slowly, like a beating heart.

But...now what?

Not knowing where else to begin, you try to remember how it felt to take in the rune’s power. On the surface level, the feeling was akin to any other ability you’ve experienced, but thinking more closely and just reaching  _ a little bit further... _ you grasp it. This one is different, you can tell immediately. It manifests uniquely in your hand as you hold it up to conjure. The energy collects at your fingertips but resonates with something behind your eyes. When you move to cast it, however, your head throbs instead and the spark collapses within your grasp.

Hissing in pain with a hand at your temple, you let it slip back into the beyond, wincing as the invisible tendrils slice you on their way out. You shake out your hand, inspecting it for damage but finding none, visibly. Frowning in frustration, you feel his displeasure over your shoulder and it only serves to make you bristle further.

_ “Such wasted potential,” _ he mumbles, and you can see his sneer in your mind’s eye.

You pointedly ignore him, attempting instead to grab a hold of that same magic again, and you come to a similar result. This time, in your impatience, you force it too much and the energy snaps back painfully.

Wincing, you try again and again, with varying degrees of intent behind your motions. Each attempt ends the same, in the end. For what feels like an entire hour you stand, shivering in the harsh, cold environment of the Void, extending your arm out and flexing the muscles in them long after the appendage has turned to deadweight. Your fingers crackle with disrupted magic with each unsuccessful cast and as you try again, you hear him speak up. It almost startles you in fact, because you’ve allowed yourself to focus so intently on what you’re doing.

_ “Remove the wall,”  _ he advises somewhere behind you to the right, but you know you’ll find nothing if you turn to check,  _ “that ugly blockage...long thought irrelevant, has returned to the surface.” _

“What-“ you gasp as another failure reverberates a sharp shock through your bones, “are you talking about?”

His responding sigh is more thoughtful than critical but clipped all the same. You only feel yourself growing more and more irritable under his gaze. So you finally speak your mind.

“You know, Outsider, you could just tell me what to do for once,” you grumble, taking a minor break to lower your aching arm, “instead of just bullying me from the shadows.”

That earns you a curt scoff, barely picked up by the wind, but you definitely feel his offense through his mark. You welcome the little victory, as insignificant as it is.

_ “I’m trying to help you.”  _ He corrects and this time  _ you  _ scoff.

_ “This _ is helping?”

Immediately, as if carried away by a sudden tide, his mood evens out into...nothing. Total neutrality. Your connection goes silent and you worry briefly if you’ve genuinely upset him. Then you hear his voice again in the next moment, and he’s back to the same indifference he started with.

_ “Face what’s blocking you,”  _ he instructs, but nothing more. 

“I don’t know what that means,” you snap back but are regarded with nothing. If anything, he seems to be pulling back further from you. Your emotional link is clouded with darkness, whether by his hand or yours it’s unclear.

Frustrated all over again, you begin again to conjure the new ability, but this time you start to make some progress. It’s subtle, the promises of success hidden between electrifying failures. Little by little you can feel yourself forcing back whatever it is that’s blocking the flow of magic from your head to your hand.

You’re pushing so hard that the pain is almost unbearable, but you’re closer than ever. You can  _ feel it.  _ The magic trying to take shape. You’re almost there! If you could just reach a little further- pull a little harder-!

Suddenly your mark flares bright white as something deep within you  _ pops _ , but instead of new power, you are overwhelmed with an aching, bright pain straight to your fingertips. Biting down a scream, you jump back, but the magic follows. It’s like something within you has been ripped open, and now energy flows freely-  _ violently-  _ through the wound.

In your panic, you barely notice the moving shards of black or even the form they take.

His cold hands grasp your own with a strength you never thought he had. The Outsider brings your overflowing mark close before clasping it tightly in his own, sealing it there. The white-hot pain ebbs away quickly, and you feel the invisible bottle close itself back up.

The Siren doesn’t release you right away. He waits until the magic seeps back into your skin, but in the meantime, he fixes you in place with a narrowed look of frustration- perhaps even worry? Not that you feel comfortable pushing the thought that far-

“You truly are an idiot,” he snaps calmly despite the barely subdued anger clear on his features, “I knew you were insatiable, but even  _ I  _ never expected you to be this reckless.”

Your heart is pounding away with the lingering traces of your fear and adrenaline, but you still manage to glare back at him.

“You’re the one who left me here to figure it out on my own! What even-  _ what was that?”  _ you pant.

He cants his head to the side to inspect your fingers, hidden from your view as they’re in his grasp. As collected as he always is, he answers just as casually, “You  _ forced _ it, and you almost tore a rift in yourself.”

“I-  _ tore what?” _

The Siren sighs long and exasperated through his nose before finally letting up on his grasp so you can see the damage. You felt the pain yourself, so you look to find anything related to the cold burning you felt- but...what you do find makes your heart stop and your blood run cold.

Your fingertips are  _ black.  _ Dark and riddled with ink beneath the skin.

Just like the whales.

At first, you thought it looked like some sort of awful frost burn, but inspecting it closer you recognize it clear as day. There’s no doubt about it. The virus stretches out no further than your fingertips, barely even scraping the first knuckles, but it’s enough to terrify you. Thin tendrils running along your veins, dark as the night is long, and an awful chill is soaked into your flesh to the bone.

The Outsider swims a little closer, almost curling around you to grasp your hand once again without pulling it away and out of your sight. Almost tenderly, he rubs at your fingertips until the virus begins to move and shift. Truthfully, the sight makes you feel sick to your stomach- the visual of such a thing moving inside you- but it doesn’t last long.

The dark vines pull away and fade one by one until once more your hand is free of any blemishes or marks- besides  _ his  _ mark of course, which sits content as can be.

“That was…” you trail off, unable to lift your eyes away from the healed flesh, and you catch his nod.

“The very same.” he confirms and drops your hand once again to back away from you, “That’s all it is. A rift torn in a weak point where there shouldn’t be.”

“Will it come back?” you ask, meekly, and thankfully he doesn’t skip around the answer. He shakes his head and lets out a clear  _ ‘no’. _ Lifting his gaze past you, the Siren seems to spy something out of sight and he frowns to himself, almost disgustedly.

“Not unless you attempt to control the Void again, no, it won’t return. It’s a tide. A natural phenomenon, not meant to be harnessed by humans.”

Well, while you certainly don’t believe that anything about that was _natural_ , you don’t want to irritate him further. Whatever he’s rambling on about you’re sure you’ll figure out sooner or later. Or maybe never...it’s hard to tell with him. Could your impatient attempts have offended him? The Void, as you can only assume by all you’ve learned thus far, is sacred to the Leviathan people of the sea. They’re born with a direct tether to its magic...and for a human to try and bend it to their whims…

“I’m sorry.”

You almost smile at the quick swivel of his head your apology earns him, but you hold strong and keep a neutral face. Instead, you straighten up and take a step in his direction. He doesn’t move except for the slow winding of his tail to keep him suspended in place. His dark eyes stay locked with yours. The wind howls but neither of you move to respond.

As his silence stretches, you begin to grow a little nervous. Had you overstepped something?  _ Again? _

Yet, just as you begin to think up ways to apologize for  _ apologizing  _ he chuckles. A low, half-distracted sound that carries more surprise than amusement.

He mutters your name, and you can barely suppress a responding shiver at the sound of it on his tongue, “You continue to  _ surprise me _ ...and that’s a near-impossible thing to do.”

Frowning, you glance away suddenly bashful as he flicks his tail and swims through the air again, this time taking a broad circle around you.

“Try again,” he directs, watching you from the corner of his eye, “this time don’t force it, but guide it.”

You're conflicted about attempting  _ any  _ magic again after that incident, but regardless you follow his lead. For now, you push off these new understandings of the mysterious disease and focus instead on mastering your magical abilities. There’ll be plenty of time to stew in existential dread later in the evening.

You sigh, wincing as you lift your sore left arm and call forth the magic from your mark.

You have a feeling this is going to be a  _ long _ night.

Without many other options, you pour your energy into trying again and again to shape the magic you received from the rune. Manifesting it is easy, but the hard part comes right after that when you determine what to do with it at all. No matter how slowly or patiently you try, the streams of Void just swirl around it. The focus of your being. It feels like the magic is hitting something. Or perhaps a better analogy would be to compare it with a shitty wi-fi connection. Something just isn’t connecting. Not to mention it doesn’t help to have  _ him  _ hovering just out of view. The low light reflecting off his scales is more than distracting.

You’re not sure which is worse: when he’s absent and watching from an omniscient-distance, or when he’s circling you in person like a predator watching its prey.

On his next pass, he gives you a pointed look as if to say,  _ ‘you’re the one who wanted my help.’ _

Fair enough…

He finally takes pity on your tired, desperate demeanor and arcs closer to you. Swimming in a tight circle he appears over your shoulder as he watches the magic fizzle out from your fingertips. With an unnerving silence, he regards you another moment before turning to catch your eye.

“You’re never going to do it unless you face your blockage.”

“You keep saying that,” you insist quietly, as if raising your voice any higher will disturb the eerie silence of the Void, “but I don’t know what you mean.”

He tilts his head, frowning, “I think you do.”

When you pout he just smirks, and the gesture distracts you from his other hand which raises to graze the back of his knuckles against your cheek. You don’t have the time to be surprised, however, because as soon as his skin meets yours everything flashes white.

There’s a powerful rush of cold, bright energy that surges in time with where he touches your face and the center of your Siren’s mark. Faster than you can cognitively register, the magic swirls and collects in your head. The fog encompasses your mind before blowing out into the surrounding Void.

When you open your eyes, you don’t see the same island you were on before. This one is narrower and more isolated, but that’s not what sends your heart skipping a beat.

It’s the broken structure of your old, childhood home attached to it. 

The front half settled onto the rock’s edge is intact, but the end half is decayed and out of place. Any wood not laid upon flat earth is warped and sharpened as it drifts off into the Void. The front door is ajar, and a woman is in the middle of stepping out- seemingly frozen in time with one hand on the brass knob and her other extended before her in a wave.

This is a younger version of your mother. You know this right away from her smile alone. It’s warm, even when set on her narrow, pale face in the twilight of the Void. She rarely smiled like that after the accident and  _ never again  _ after your father left you both.

Skipping off the steps onto the cobblestone pathway below is a young child-  _ you-  _ grinning as you run along towards someone you can’t see. It’s a tall, masculine figure, but his face is full of static, and no matter how hard you squint the features remain unfocused. Even his clothes, pulled together and proper, bleed at the edges. As if his very existence is  _ wrong.  _

All of this is just... _ wrong. _

“What is this?” you ask, unable to remove your eyes from your mother’s in the doorway.

The Outsider drifts by on your left, more interested in the miniature version of yourself. He mutters to himself instead of registering your disturbed tone, “This is the dark secret you would do anything to hide?” The Siren hums before continuing, “You see your direct blood kin as ugly scars. Blemishes to be covered up and denied at all costs.”

His deep, black eyes flicker up to meet yours and even the Void seems to hold its breath.

“I wonder how you’d feel if you sought them out again, now that you’re grown and capable.” Even as he says this, however, there's an almost bitter frown on his face. As if he doesn’t believe what he’s saying, or there’s more to be said. You just pin him there with as strong a look as you can muster.

You sigh through your nose, “I told you to stay out of my dreams.”

“You’re not dreaming, my dear,” he replies smoothly, and by the Void, he makes it very difficult sometimes to have a conversation. Doesn’t he know any basic decency? He  _ knows  _ how much your past- your childhood- has affected you. How much effort you’ve put into moving on. Why does he seek so stubbornly to expose your old wounds? What is he  _ looking _ for?

Your mouth is dry, your heart beating away and you’re struggling to keep from just demanding he let you go. His frown deepens and his tail jerks in response to some unknown thought you can't begin to guess. Or perhaps he can simply sense your anger with him, and that displeases him.

“Sometimes we don’t get a choice,” he says instead of literally anything else that would help you at this moment, “some shadows linger even in daytime, and some stains cannot be washed out. You  _ will _ be faced with this again, your family _... _ but the choice of how to handle it- how it will  _ shape you _ \- is only yours to make.”

You swallow thickly, “I don’t like this.”

“Then change it,” he responds, immediately, practiced like he knew you would say it. Like he’s been thinking about it all night, and maybe he has for all you know.

You clench your fist, take one look into the eyes of the younger, innocent you, and you wave it off.

The magic in your left hand flares the same as it has all night, but this time it meets little resistance as it connects behind your eyes. Your motive has changed and with it, so does the song dancing along your fingertips. It swirls and whispers the words to a long-forgotten language. You catch the end of the incantation, light and airy almost like the Siren’s language but somehow you know it’s more  _ ancient-  _ and the spark finally catches flame in your grasp.

Instinctually, you allow the stream of energy to flow through your arm, and when you visualize the spark right where you want it-  _ appearing as you want it-  _ you grip it tight.

There’s a blur of light, reflecting through the air light sunbeams through the ocean’s surface before it settles around the child version of yourself. The illusion is changed, and it’s silhouette grays and changes in the span of a single blink. It grows before glossing over, and in its place now stands a perfect copy of yourself.

You stare into your own eyes, shocked. You tilt your head around the...other you and find them completely frozen. They stare ahead, unbothered even as you wave a hand in front of their eyes. This ‘you’ is no different than any other Void illusion, yet it looks so  _ lifelike. _ Looking down to your left hand, you find the mark reflecting a low light as it continues to stream magic into the illusion you’ve conjured.

After another minute, the magic wanes and you let it slip away with a gasp of effort. Like any of your other abilities, the false-you dissolves into the air in a gust of translucent shards.

You turn, unable to keep the grin off your face, to find the Outsider watching on smug behind you. His arms are crossed, but his expression has softened significantly. He nods at you in acknowledgment, a ghost of a smile on his face.

Still high on the adrenaline of using magic, you feel any lingering traces of anger and anxiety leave your system, instead replaced with the sweet taste of a hard-earned victory.

You do a small fist bump into the air, bumping back on your heels with a muted  _ ‘yes!’ _

You can’t help it, you’re just- you did it! You actually did it! That feeling was such a rush, you can see why the Sirens love it so much. To be filled with that sort of power all the time is addictive. 

When you turn back around from your victory lap, you find the Siren staring at you oddly.

His arms have slackened from their strict hold around his chest, and he has a faraway look in his eyes as he watches you. There’s a much more comforting silence surrounding you both this time. You smile, thankful, and open your mouth to-

“I apologize,” he mutters first, looking somewhat uncomfortable juggling the word he undoubtedly rarely uses, “if you found it...unpleasant.”

By the Spirits, you want to be upset with him...but how can you stay mad with him when he looks like  _ that.  _ Embarrassed as he offers up his pride in an attempt to smooth things over with you. You sigh to yourself and shake your head as you slowly approach him. He watches you carefully, tail fin twitching subconsciously as you close the distance.

“I forgive you,” you reconcile, with a sweet smile and immediately his shoulders relax (but only slightly).

“But no more digging around in my head,” you press, forcing yourself to frown so he may take you seriously, “not without  _ asking first…” _

The Outsider drops his arms to his sides, slowly and hesitantly, but he’s never looked more comfortable in your presence. His eyes, half-lidded, are focused on you and you alone as he allows the corner of his lip to lift just so. He chuckles, a shine of something mischievous appearing in his gaze.

_ “No promises.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it can be really difficult to write magic scenes, but I really do love trying to put those moments into words- it makes for a lot of abstract, painterly visuals ✨ 
> 
> Fun fact: I wrote in the scene with Irene falling on her face last minute because it came to me and the visual was just too hilarious lol (thinking of her walking around with a bandage over her nose, snapping at anyone who asks made me deliriously happy) and don't worry, this isn't the last time our Reader will one-up the bullies at work...but it's baby-steps~
> 
> I looked at this fic for the first time in a week and...omg we made over a 1,000 hits!!! You guys have to believe me when I say I never thought more than 30 people would read this indulgent side project of mine, let alone take the time to write such beautiful and heartfelt comments and kudos...seriously, thank you all from the bottom of my heart ❤️ I adore this fandom, and I'll see you again soon with the next update :)


	21. Revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a quick technical note: I'm not going to be putting in the short summaries at the beginning of each chapter anymore. Personally, they were always an afterthought so I ended up dreading to write them (summaries are *very* hard for me for some reason) and they all sound the same anyway- ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I just feel they're unnecessary lol So in case you notice something's missing- that's why 👌 
> 
> Enjoy the update ✨ next chapter is all about Empire Industries' official *Gala event*...foreshadowing and tension of all sorts to be had~

Ever since you absorbed that rune you found in the warehouse, you’ve become a bit obsessed with magic and learning to use it. Although _‘obsessed’_ is a strong word. You prefer _‘focused’_ or _‘engrossed’_ if you’re being articulate about it...that is to say that you _aren’t_ _addicted-_ no, you’re just excited to reach into a new pool of knowledge. If you’re going to have the Siren’s mark you may as well make the most of it.

Your sudden, intense interest in the arcane has stemmed from a bit of a theory. Or maybe it’d be much more appropriate to call it _hope_. During your unorthodox lesson with the Siren, there had been a moment in which you pushed yourself too hard, causing an overflow of raw energy into your fingertips. They had blackened with the same painful ink that currently tortures the whales in your care. You had been ready to panic, but the Siren, calm and indifferent as ever, simply rubbed it away. If he can do it, why not you? If the virus is just excess magic from the Void, surely you should be able to channel and redirect it. Seal the tear.

However, something of that scale is easier said than done. Then again, you’ve never been one to turn away from a mystery waiting to be solved. For every problem, there is a solution, that much you’ve learned.

So that theory is what has driven you to work and practice for nearly... _by the Spirits,_ has it been 3 hours already? You don’t remember working for that long. You couldn’t sleep and decided to just busy yourself until you got tired, but apparently, it’s been longer than you thought.

Yawning to yourself, you cringe. This is going to come back to haunt you in the afternoon.

With a flourish that has become secondhand by this point, you flick your left wrist and once again call upon the magic link imbued there. The Outsider’s symbol flares white as the familiar pulse of electricity stretches from your fingertips to your shoulder. It took you a few tries to figure it out, but this particular ability requires a clear head and a strong mental image of whatever you want to appear. If you can picture the thing well enough, your brain seems to be able to fill in the blanks for little details like clothing or facial features.

You’ve been practicing with people all morning, and this time you think of another familiar face. The magic flashes once as it reaches out and creates the illusion. The warm light of your lamp and cracked window ripple together and shimmer until quickly solidifying in one form.

A perfect illusion of Corvo stares back at you. From his resting frown to each precise wrinkle beside the eyes, the custom, form-fitted suit he always wears to work, and even the black boots you bought him on his last birthday. The mirage blinks once, silently staring back at you with unseeing eyes- all part of a false image, but damn if it isn’t terrifyingly accurate. He even shifts on his feet every now and then. Illusory hands busying themselves by pulling on his cuffs just like the real Corvo would. Smiling at your handiwork you step back before the illusion, one hand rubbing your chin.

Now if only you could make it speak…

That would certainly perfect the illusion, wouldn’t it? It’s not the most far-fetched thing you could ask from the mark. Having a walking and talking doppelgänger to get you out of work would certainly be more helpful.

Maybe you have to think harder- in closer detail- when animating the illusion.

Humming to yourself, you wave your hand again to stir up the lowly buzzing energy, and the false-Corvo flickers like an old movie still. His form seems to glitch out then reset, arms to his sides and eyes gazing ahead. You swirl the magic around your fingers and try to imagine what Corvo sounds like, and then to imbue it into the illusion.

The illusion slowly opens its mouth as though to speak, and his form takes a breath before-

_“Did you sleep in again-?”_

“No!” you yelp impulsively, spinning in place with a yelp of fear. The illusion fizzles out as soon as you let the magic slip, and the curtness of your exit causes your hand to throb painfully.

Emily, halfway in your bedroom door, has her eyes barely lifted from her phone screen, an accusatory brow lifted high. She gives you a once-over before entering completely.

You clutch your left hand inside the right one, behind your back, and give her a nervous smile.

“Em, _fuck_ you scared me.”

She scoffs and finishes whatever she had been typing, a moment you take to sigh in relief. Good, she didn’t see anything.

“Apparently…” she responds before pocketing the device and giving you a once over. Emily frowns, leaning on one hip as she narrows her eyes at you, “you aren’t even dressed yet-! Breakfast is in 3 minutes and it’s _pancake day!”_

Snorting you make as elegant of a bow as you can without revealing your hands, “Apologies, your Majesty, it shan't happen again.”

Your sister just rolls her eyes heavily and you take the moment to turn away and stuff your hands into your open closet. You pad around carefully, searching for those _damned gloves-!_

But your name on Emily’s tongue stops you. You peek over your shoulder to find her still there near the doorway, but her gaze has softened a bit. She’s worrying her lip, an old anxious habit of hers.

“You’re not keeping anything from me, right?” she asks, and despite the strength in her tone, you can read the uncertainty in her caramel eyes alone.

“No, Emily, I promise I’m not…” now it’s your turn to bite your lip as a wave of guilt rushes over you, “the lab has just been so busy- we get new whales every week it’s...it’s just-“

She waves a hand, visibly collecting herself and hiding away the insecure child you first met, “Of course, you’re right, I completely understand.”

You watch her, conflicted as images of the Siren come to mind, his mark, Irene and her friends picking on you, and every other little moment you _probably_ should’ve chosen honesty rather than selfish silence. You know that out of everyone in this world Emily is the one you can trust...but these particular issues are ones you need to deal with first. She’s the CEO of a worldwide company, for Void’s sake. Emily Kaldwin shouldn’t have to come to dig you out of the mud every time you trip and fall. You have to be strong like her.

Lowering your hands so they remain obscured by your coat, you smile, “Em, you and Corvo are all I have...I promise, if anything was pressing me, I’d tell you.”

For a beat, she just watches you back through sharp, calculating eyes. Eventually, she seems to give up and she returns the gesture, albeit more stiffly. When she turns to leave she casts one last look your way- and your heart skips a beat when you swear she glances toward your hands-

“Be down in 3, alright? Those pancakes will _not_ go to waste.”

“Yes, ma’am.” you chime gleefully, despite the lump in your throat, and Emily just scoffs once more as she leaves, shutting the door behind her.

You stand in silence for another few seconds. Finally, you pull your hand out and inspect the symbol etched there. Tracing a finger over it, you sigh harshly…

_That was a close one…_

…

To say it’s an especially busy day in the Rehabilitation Center would be stupidly redundant.

This far into the company’s efforts to control and eradicate the virus means that most of the facility has been restocked to house the numerous sick whales that wash up weekly. Other, less priority, animals have been moved to other Empire-owned facilities, and many of the company’s finest have been brought in. The office building alone has enough work ahead of them, sorting through every employee’s non-disclosure agreements, and they aren’t even taking care of the animals. It’s even more frustrating for you now that you know the truth behind the cause of this virus. However, they’d all think you insane if you just started spouting Void-based nonsense...so for now you can only encourage countermeasures to help with the symptoms and hope for a breakthrough.

You just need enough time to figure out how to close those tears in reality. You’re so close, you can’t stop now! Not even when your feet feel like they’re about to fall off from all your running back and forth. Not to mention your poor vocal cords, which have been thoroughly used raw from all your delegating. Being a Head Director has never been so stressful...you wonder how James Turnbull ever did it.

Then again, the man was a power-hungry, sleazy jackass...so perhaps he isn’t the best role model for you.

Looking over in the pen beside you, you find Leo Butler in the middle of soothing a groaning whale. It’s one of the originals to first come to the facility months ago, and one of the worst cases you’ve seen yet. The rest of the room is incredibly large and therefore spaced out, allowing for you to focus on sensing the magic surrounding the creature. You don’t even need to concentrate. The poor thing _reeks_ of Void energy. The black, inky splotches have risen to the skin in some areas, causing the exterior to harden with tiny, dark crystals. They pierce the whale’s skin and sing a low, broken song that only your ears and those of the Sirens can hear. Every time you catch one flinching and wailing in pain, your heart breaks just a little more. Animals were what got you into marine biology in the first place, to stop things like this from happening. You just wish you had a cure. An answer that would make their suffering worth it. But you don’t yet. All you can do is find temporary ways to help ease their pain. To keep them alive long enough to see this through.

“Yer okay girl,” Leo coos, bringing you back to the present moment. His deep voice sounds even more comforting when sung low like that. It’s almost fatherly the way Leo carries himself as he cares not only for the animals but other people. You may not have known the Head Animal Therapist for very long, but you have a theory it wasn’t just his brains that got him hired. Jessamine always had an eye for those with heart.

The whale in its sling, low enough to be half in the water, glances around blindly before slowly relaxing. Leo Butler continues to hum to himself, heavily gloved hands rhythmically rolling over the great animal’s skin. He’s careful to avoid any crystalized areas, out of caution for himself or the whale you’re not sure. The animal seems more content, either way and its mournful groan drops until it’s no more than low background noise.

There’s a different sound though that you pick up instead. A quiet, more high-pitched whispering that you find quite familiar. It’s more reserved than a rune, but it calls out to you all the same. An object encased in magic rather than filled with it.

You realize immediately that it’s bonecharms stuffed in Leo’s jacket. You can vaguely see them if you squint at his clothes and concentrate. The enchanted objects seem content in his care, so they aren’t asking you to take them...it feels more like acknowledgment. Like ripples in the same pool bouncing off one another.

Ever curious, you can’t help but wonder what properties they hold. You remember hearing more arcane items in his office, too. Why does he carry them around? You don’t mean to be suspicious, but you just hope he doesn’t intend to use their boons for harm...although that doesn’t sound like him.

Walking up beside him you glance up at the whale, who is breathing shallowly, “What are you doing?”

Leo smiles lopsidedly, still petting the animal, “All creatures like to be soothed, Director. Nothin’ beats a little love.”

You smile, “Well, I’m glad you’re getting acquainted with life here so well. How has it been teaching the staff?”

“Like a dream,” he hums, “they’re picking up well, and we’ll be moving forward with the swimming exercises tomorrow!”

“Great,” you sigh, and Leo pauses before stopping his task and turning towards you.

“What’s got you down, bird?”

You swallow and consider your options. You have no idea how he’ll react, but then again this is something you feel you have a right to know. He hasn’t given you any cause for concern so far, and you doubt he ever will. Yet, you didn’t get much sleep last night and you’re feeling impulsive. So, with a glance to ensure you’re both out of earshot, you meet his gaze and ask.

“Dr. Butler...why do you carry around those bonecharms?”

His form stiffens and his wide eyes almost immediately flicker back and forth before settling on you defensively. He leans back subconsciously, and huffs to himself as he says in a low voice, “Director, I’ve never- how did you..?”

“I saw one in your office the other day,” you admit, suddenly nervous and a little embarrassed upon seeing his irritated and offended reaction.

He glares back at you, the sudden hostility in his eyes a far cry from all you’ve seen of him so far, “I-I have a right to carry what I want, Director, they don’t do nothin’.”

“I’m sorry, Leo,” you remedy, still keeping a low tone so as not to attract any unnecessary attention, “I have no intention of asking you to stop, I just...I was curious, I suppose…”

Something seems to click internally and before your eyes, you watch as Leo Butler deflates. His defensive anger drains away until he’s left looking more embarrassed than offended. Taking off his thick gloves he turns briefly to toss them into the bin labeled _‘hazardous waste’._ He raises the now bare hand to scratch at his neck.

“No, I should apologize,” he sighs, still standing away from you, but with every minute he relaxes a bit more, “I always collected 'em back when I was a ship hand, and I guess the habit stayed with me…I shouldn’t ’ave assumed you meant to turn me in.”

Your eyes widen slightly, “Spirits, no- I’d never do that!”

“I know I know, I remember what you said about the Abbey- it’s just...people who collect these types o’ things don’t usually speak aloud about ‘em...you know?”

“Yes,” you nod, “I shouldn’t have pried.”

Leo continues to stare at you as you stew in your guilt before finally speaking, a ghost of a smile on his face, “This one I got from a witch up in Morley- a good one, I mean-“ and he fishes around in his pocket to pull out one of the tiny trinkets in question. Attached to a rounded, steel ring is a smoothed piece of whalebone about the length of your ring finger. You step a bit closer to inspect it and spy an arcane symbol etched near the grip.

“It’s supposed to bring good fortune,” he chuckles, grinning somewhat sheepishly, “and I know how that sounds, but after I bought it the old CEO, Miss Jessamine, hired me the next day! Just outta the blue!”

Smiling yourself you nod and he puts the charm back in his clasped pocket, “I’ve always kept ‘em close ever since. You never know, maybe they do hold special gifts. Magic, and whatnot.”

_‘More than he realizes,’_ you think with another friendly nod. Right then your phone buzzes to life in your pocket, and you stand up straight with a sigh. That’s your alarm to get your things from your office. Almost quitting time, thank the Spirits.

“Sorry, I’m meeting Emily before we leave together...I’ll see you later, Leo?”

He grins, back to his regular sunshiney attitude, “Aye, I’ll see ya!”

You wave politely then turn to make your way back towards the main hallway. On your way, you clock out and make sure to give some parting words to the other Directors underneath you.

You text Eliot to see if he’s around to talk, but after a few long minutes of nothing you pick up your phone to find a short response. According to him, he’s been in and out of meetings all day and can’t be bothered to walk down one flight of stairs. Well, you shouldn’t get too annoyed with him. After all, he’s as busy as you are with everything going on, and it seems a little silly, in retrospect, to make him walk down just to go back up.

Sighing, you flick through your messages with the overly extroverted Biologist. Had you said something to irritate him? Or maybe you’re just overthinking it…

“Director?” a sly voice calls out and as soon as you recognize it, you freeze.

Turning slowly as you lower away your device, you meet the narrowed eyes of Irene Rose. The picture of her standing there in the empty hallway with you, hands on her hips and a smug smile, is immediately disturbed when you spy the gauze taped to her nose. It runs along the bridge and you can tell she’s tried to apply as little as possible...yet the sight of your recent handiwork sends a fleeting rush of confidence through you.

“What happened to...ah..?” you tilt your head and ask innocently, gesturing towards your own nose vaguely.

Her smirk falters for a brief moment and you allow yourself to feel smug before it’s immediately replaced by anxiety. Irene scoffs to herself, flicking a stray hair from her face aggressively.

“I need a raise,” she demands instead of answering your question, and you narrow your eyes at her.

“You’re an intern, so the wage is fixed...I can’t just-“

“Aren’t you the Head Director?” she sneers, and that same hatred has returned to her eyes. The same grudge she’s had on you since you first met. “You know, I don’t _get_ you.”

You just watch her carefully, and she continues with her thoughts undaunted.

“You could have anything you wanted. You could have Emily Kaldwin’s seat if you pleased- but no.” she narrows her eyes, arms crossing and form encroaching in on you with every word, “you’re a fucking _rat_ . You’re a worthless little _parasite_.“

You take a step back, but she just follows you until your back hits the wall. Irene stops an arm’s length away, seething, and something in her mask chips and _breaks._

“I’ve worked hard, and I’ve _earned_ what I deserve. You’re just the Kaldwin’s pet. The stray they brought in!” she scoffs, “And you don’t even make the most of it-!”

“What do you want Irene?” you ask and are genuinely shocked by how strong your voice is compared to how you truly feel. Behind you, you brace your hands against the wall and press the muscles there until that familiar spark appears.

As you focus on the space behind Irene, the air shimmers and ripples. Your energy extends forward to collect into one form of light. With a low flash, a perfect copy of your sister appears. The illusion frowns and glares ahead as it crosses its arms. The fake Emily opens her mouth to object, but no sound comes out. Maybe...if you just focused a little harder…

“What do I want..?” Irene mimics you then shakes her head, smile turning bitter, “I want a fucking _raise.”_

Narrowing your eyes at her you only half listen, with the rest of your mind concentrating solely on the illusion across the hall. You can feel it getting stronger the longer you pour magic into it.

“Unless of course, you’d prefer I break something else of yours?”

You glare back at her, and despite the way your heart is pounding in your chest, you find that invisible thread in your grip and _pull_ until your puppet finally speaks.

_“What is the meaning of this?”_

The illusion’s voice sounds somewhat distorted to your ears but it makes Irene nearly jump out of her skin. She turns quickly and meets the illusion’s gaze head-on with wide eyes.

“Miss Kaldwin-! I...I was just chatting with the Director about-“

The false Emily just raises a brow, silently staring down at Irene until she’s shrunk into herself, defeated. With a quick half-step away, she immediately puts distance between you both and bows stiffly.

“Sorry, I was just about to get back to work…”

Retreating with her eyes drawn away and a scowl on her lips, Irene meets your eyes one last time before she turns and speeds away.

As soon as she’s around the corner, you count to 5 then let the magic slip free with a sigh of exertion. At the same time your illusion ripples and fizzes out, fading away along with the light pulsing underneath your glove.

Despite the immediate danger being gone, the hairs on your neck are still on end, and you feel eyes glued to the back of your head. You turn and freeze up as your heart plummets to your feet in fear.

Standing just down the hall, her hand still lingering on the corner with her eyes wide in disbelief…

Is the _real_ Emily Kaldwin…

_Fuck._

~ ~ ~

You wish she would say something- _either of them._

You watch from your seat beside one of the vault lab tables as Corvo paces back and forth, a hand draped over his chin as he mulls over your story. Emily just leans back against the adjacent table, her eyes searching yours. She’s probably looking for any other lies you may be hiding, and the thought makes you sick to your stomach.

Following the incident in the hallway, you spent an agonizingly long and silent car ride home with Emily. Even your driver, sweet and goodhearted old Samuel, knew to stay uninvolved as you both got into the car with grave, absentminded expressions. Your sister wouldn’t have it. Any time you tried to speak up she would wave you off harshly with the muttered comments of _“not here”_ and _“wait for Corvo”_.

So you bit your tongue and tried to prepare yourself mentally for the difficult conversation to come. As soon as you got back to the manor and met Corvo at the door, his face had fallen. He’s a very sharp man and you have no doubt he knew something was up the moment you met eyes.

So now here you are, all hiding away in the only place where these sorts of things can be said. The enormous tank bubbles away beside you, and you’re not sure if seeing the Siren right now would help or just make you more nervous. You avoid his invisible stare by flickering between your two adoptive family members.

Finally, Corvo turns to you fully, but his eyes are down at your bare left hand. The Outsider’s mark is revealed for them both to see, now that your little secret is out.

“A Siren’s mark,” he grumbles, tone strict and frustrated, “I’ve heard plenty of rumors, but never thought anything of it...until now.”

You’ve been thinking yourself into a stupor since you got into the car with Emily, but somehow you still don’t know what to say, so you stay silent. You just nod in reply.

Corvo crosses his arms and instead of scolding you as you expect, he asks, “Is he hurting you?”

You blink at him, surprised, “N-no of course not...the mark doesn’t hurt or take anything from me, it just gives me certain...powers. Like I explained.”

“You can just use the sorts of magic he can?”

“Yes,” you confirm quietly and he sighs.

“You just accepted it?” he asks incredulously, “I never expected you to make such a rash and irresponsible decision.”

_There’s the scolding you’ve been waiting for…_

Frowning, you lean back in your chair and look away, “He _didn’t_ ask me, he just gave it to me.”

_“I seem to remember that you asked me for my mark,”_

Speak of the Siren, and he shall appear…but you never expected literally. Yet, just as those lofty words echo around in your head, hundreds of shimmering scales appear in the water beside you all. The iridescent shadow takes form and you follow his long tail with your eyes until you find him staring back at you. He smirks a bit at your no-doubt surprised expression, which pales in comparison to Emily and Corvo’s faces. If they weren’t so good at keeping themselves composed all the time, you’re sure their jaws would be on the floor. The Siren has barely appeared to them once, or maybe twice, after all.

Yet, he doesn’t even glance their way. Black eyes meet yours and suddenly you feel like everyone’s just picking on you today.

“Even _if_ I had asked you,” he drawls, crossing his arms, “you would have said _yes._ There were no other paths you would have walked.”

“So, now he shows up,” Corvo grumbles, and he moves a half step away from the tank. It’s been so long since then that you forgot the Outsider wouldn’t let anyone within a certain radius of the tank. Not without the risk of getting electrocuted, of course. After all the progress you’ve made with the Siren it’s easy to forget where you started. If this conversation wasn’t stressing you out so much, you might have room to feel proud of yourself.

“Hello, Corvo,” he smiles, stiffly, but the man in question only continues to glare back silently.

Right, you also forgot that only you can understand the Siren, thanks to a passive ability from the mark. Glancing between them, you nervously move to translate.

“He says hello…”

“I gathered.” Corvo cuts you off.

Finally, your eyes meet Emily’s but now her focus is almost entirely on the Siren. You doubt she’s ever had the chance to fully meet the Outsider, but today has been full of revelations, apparently.

In a single moment, she collects herself enough to narrow her eyes toward the siren, “If we’re to believe all the fairy tales by this point, then tell me this...are they in danger now, because of you?”

“Em, I already told you, the mark doesn’t hurt-“

“Just ask him.” she presses in that CEO tone of hers that allows for little to no wiggle room. Frowning, you turn to meet the eyes of your Siren companion and repeat her question. Immediately, his amusement falls, and once again his expression is all hard angles.

“Humans are not meant to be conduits for the Void,” he begins slowly, and almost bitterly, “that is the birthright of Leviathans...yet some humans do abuse it. Force it to take on morbid, _disgusting_ shapes.”

“What’s he saying?” Emily asks sharply.

The Siren continues on unbothered, “If the magic is harnessed through a Siren’s pact, then it is harmless. Unless, of course, you take on too much at once, as we’ve previously discovered.”

“I remember,” you clarify with a nod then turn rushed to a prickly Emily and Corvo.

“Normally, humans don’t have natural access to the arcane, but as long as I have _this_ , it’s completely safe…” you keep as calm as your nervous voice will allow, and show them your mark again to emphasize.

A pause. It’s filled only by the distant bubbling of the tank and cautious exchanged glances all around the room. Finally, Corvo speaks again.

“In my time I’ve come across plenty of people...people like James Turnbull. Or _Daud…”_ his voice dips even lower on the last word. A name that easily catches the ears of everyone present. Immediately, your eyes flicker to Emily to find her glaring into the wall behind you. Her jaw is set nearly as tight as her father's, and you can tell just from across the room that her thoughts are swimming violently like a hurricane.

“Those sorts…” he starts again, scowl deep and form weighted down with the grief he carries like a jacket, “there will always be those who want to have what doesn’t belong to them. Selfish, cruel people…”

His cold gaze, glinting with unspoken anger, finds the Outsider’s beside you, “No more games. Tell me straight...are we dealing with something bigger here?”

Pulling your brows together in frustration you straighten up to catch his eye, “What are you talking about, Corvo?”

He shares a fleeting, knowing look with Emily and honestly, it makes you bristle. Still, after all this time, they’re keeping things from you. Protecting you. You’d appreciate the sentiment more under other circumstances, but right now it just irritates you. That _sameness_ they share as father and daughter...you know you shouldn’t let it under your skin, but you just can’t help it. It’s moments like these when you feel like even your family is so far away.

Emily, as if sensing your inner turmoil, moves from her father and meets your eyes straight.

_“The Whalers.”_ she clarifies, and it takes you a moment to realize she’s adding onto Corvo’s previous statement. It clicks, and you meet his stormy gaze to confirm it.

“You think there’s someone else- a group- behind all of this?”

He nods, solemnly. You just scoff.

“What so- the Knife of Dunwall has really returned? And he’s working with the old Director, Turnbull?”

“We don’t know that,” Corvo grumbles, “But we can’t rule anything out yet, either.”

With a pointed nod, Corvo motions toward the Siren who has been watching and listening silently this entire time. He doesn’t understand what Corvo and Emily are saying, exactly, but judging by the tilt to his frown he’s picked up on enough cues to know where the conversation has led.

You lean in another inch to catch his eye. He barely gives you any indication that he truly _sees_ you- he’s just staring far away like he tends to do when he’s troubled- but the sight makes your anger melt away. You hate seeing him so...distant. Like he’s trapped in his own head. You breathe out through your nose slowly, to calm yourself, and try and offer him a more patient expression. 

“Is that true?” you ask, secretly terrified of the answer, “Is there something bigger going on behind all of this?”

He waits a moment, and at first, you think perhaps he isn’t listening, but then his tail flicks back and forth. The Siren is only thinking up his response. Tossing it back and forth on his tongue until he’s ready to share it with you. Finally, he meets your eyes with a cold, hard look of his own and nods...

_“Yes.”_

Blinking back at him, you wish more than ever you could just read him as easily as he can read you, but for once he’s being somewhat blunt. You turn to find Corvo rubbing a hand over his chin again. The action moves the skin of his face and he appears old for a moment. Exhausted to his bones. Emily isn’t faring much better, with her eyes still set on the Siren, or rather _through_ him.

Everyone in this house needs _rest,_ you realize. A sweet luxury even the Kaldwin’s can’t afford, with all the wealth they have.

“Then...what do they want?” you ask, and the Siren smirks bitterly. Instead of amusement, his soft tones are sharp and almost disgusted.

_“What all humans want...more power.”_

He turns sharply away after that and disappears in a ripple of black shards. The edges shine with a tinge of electricity, and something resonates similarly in your left hand. A bitter aftertaste rising like bile in your throat.

“So that’s it?” Emily asks as she crosses her arms, irritated, “Nothing more to say?”

“I find it better to give him space when he’s like this. He won’t talk more on it if he doesn’t want to.”

“Don’t _defend_ him. He’s here in the first place because he won’t tell us what we need.” she seethes, and you clench your jaw shut immediately.

Her statement catches you off guard. Because she’s right. He came here as a prisoner and he’s still just that, which makes you his jailer. When you returned from college and took on the job you were offered, you were given a simple instruction: _take care of the Siren._ Not befriend him. Just keep him alive long enough to get what we want from him. How is he related to the sudden hurricane that tore along the coast just a few months ago? Why are there rumors of Daud’s return to Dunwall with all his Whalers? What is the virus? These are all things you were tasked with getting out of the Siren. You hadn’t even noticed how close you had become to him. On one hand, you’re proud of the progress you’ve made with him. On the other hand, however, you’ve lost sight of what you originally came to do, and that’s what Emily and Corvo still expect from you.

Use the Siren to save the whales and, by extension, the people of the Isles.

There has never been room in this transaction for companionship, and you’ve forgotten that. You’ve selfishly made this about _you._ The realization stirs up a flurry of different emotions in you. Shame, guilt, regret, frustration, and a distinct... _longing_ that you don’t understand. That unseen _thing_ that connects you and him. Has it just been morbid curiosity this whole time? Have you been that selfish?

Straightening up, Corvo nods to you once to get your attention, “Whatever it takes, you have to get it out of him. Whether he takes this seriously or not, we need those answers.”

As you stare back at him silently his brow softens a touch, and he turns to leave with an almost apologetic sigh. Emily begins to follow but you clear your throat to stop her.

“Can we talk...please?”

She watches you cooly for a long moment, her mask of an expression entirely collected and indifferent. Finally, she nods, glancing to the tank then back to you.

“Fine, but let’s go somewhere more private.”

…

Back up in Emily’s room, you stand with her near the wet bar. Emily has poured herself a short cocktail- some honey-tinted mixture that she sips on to cool herself off. You weren’t paying attention when she made it. You’re drinking ice cold water instead, to keep yourself awake and even. The room is spinning enough for you as it is without the inclusion of alcohol in your system.

Neither of you has said anything yet, besides Emily asking if you’d like anything stronger. You shake your head, and she just continues to stare at you thoughtfully. Finally, she sighs

“How long has this been going on?”

Blinking at her, your confused mind goes immediately to the Siren. Your shared moments of privacy. The magic lessons. The inexplicable bond between you. It sends a flash of anxiety through you at the thought of your sister being disappointed or disgusted in you for...well, for what? Befriending the siren? Your relationship with him is hardly orthodox but…

Swallowing a gulp of freezing water, you meet her gaze evenly, “What about it do you mean?”

Her furrowed brows never lighten up for a second, “I mean, how long have the interns been harassing you?”

You catch yourself from showing your surprise. A strange sort of relief lifts from your stomach, although you can’t fathom why. You just look down at her hands, and the family ring on her left hand.

“Since I started…”

Emily immediately scoffs at that. An irritated huff as she tilts her head to catch your eye.

“Why do you do that?” 

“Do what?”

She scowls, “Keep every burden to yourself.”

You stare back at her a moment, mind completely blank. You didn’t expect this line of questioning at all.

At your silence, Emily only bristles further as she continues, _“You never ask for help_. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? I know about your office. My assistant told me.” She furrows her brows, eyes glinting in near desperation, “They think you’re crazy but I knew there was no way you could’ve done something like that...you’re the least aggressive person I know.”

You bite your lip, worrying the skin there as she speaks while you try and think up a worthy response, “I’m...sorry.”

She shakes her head and takes a long sip of her cocktail before continuing her rant, “You said you weren’t keeping anything from me. How am I supposed to protect you if you won’t even talk to me?”

Despite how defeated you feel, a ripple of irritation flows through you and you meet her eyes with a frown of your own.

“You’re not my _mother_ , Em,” you grit, “I have to be able to take care of myself, don’t I?”

She sets down her crystal glass with a sharp _clink!_

“Why won’t you let us be there for you?” she asks, and you nearly flinch as her words dig into your skin. “Why can’t you just lean on other people?”

“It’s not that easy, Emily.” you roll your eyes childishly, fingers gripping your glass so hard you fear it might shatter.

“Why not?” she presses, demanding.

Your mind goes back to Irene, the interns, your coworkers, your mother, even your _father-_ every person who has ever spit words against you or underestimated you. The scalding words that left invisible scars on your skin. Each marred line a truth that’s been tattooed across your body. The parts of yourself you despise.

_Street rat. Mutt. Disappointment. Parasite._ The list goes on…

Then, through the murky water of your water glass, you see a face. A fuzzy memory reflected back at you.

Your father, his face still unrecognizable from the weathering of time on your memories. The expression of sheer _horror_ after the incident and your near-drowning as a child. His thin smile as he tucked you into bed for the last time. The storm clouds that woke you. The creaking of the door as you peek around and find nothing but stale air. Your mother, heartbroken and a shell without him waiting by the door. She changed then- became a _monster_ , and she never let you forget why.

Your father is never coming back, and it’s your fault.

When you tear your gaze up and away to Emily, you find her hardened mask chipped. Her anger falters a fraction when your eyes meet and you quickly realize it’s because you’re on the verge of tears. Flushing in embarrassment, you blink the wetness away furiously before it has a chance to roll down your cheeks.

Emily opens her mouth but you speak faster to silence her.

“It’s not your burden to take,” you reason, frustrated with her and the world and _yourself_ for being so weak and selfish.

“Why?” she dares to ask, face much softer but the tone just as demanding.

“Because the last time I depended on my family they _left me.”_

The words sting as you mutter them. It’s like bile in your throat. Each word a sharpened blade. The harsh, unforgiving truth.

Your adoptive sister’s brows turn downward together and she seems to mull over her response. She waits until you’ve taken a cold swig of water before pressing you once more, this time in a much more calm tone.

“Your father.” she guesses and you nod solemnly.

She sighs, “I remember your mother...but I never met your father.”

You return to gazing into your glass. Tracing each reflective shard in the crystalline base with your eyes soothes you. Or at least the repetitive action allows for your anxious mind to distract itself from mixing into a storm. Anything to help you ease into the inevitable next stage of the conversation.

“He left long before I started sneaking out to play with you...I never told you what happened,” you mumble, “I haven’t told _anyone_ actually.”

Her hand, contrastingly warm and soft against your own startles you briefly. When your eyes connect with Emily’s again, however, there are no lingering traces of betrayal or suspicion. She’s calm and composed. Gentle, in the way she guides you by the hand to the couch in the middle of her private living space. She sits gracefully and leans back almost casually, patting the expensive velvet cushion beside her. With a drawn-out sigh, you comply with her silent command, although you keep an arm's length between you.

“It was an accident,” you blurt, unsure of where to start. After all, you have never thought about what happened out loud. Even _when_ it happened. Everything moved so fast. But you have to try.

“Growing up, I lived with my parents on the outskirts of Dunwall. In one of the older, poorer districts. I don’t remember much of him, but my father…” you pause, taking a breath to recollect the fractured memories of the life you left behind. “My dad was kind. A little reserved and wary of other people, but he was always warm. Not overly loving, but he cared in his own way.”

Emily just nods along as you ramble, and you feel the encouragement to continue.

“He _loved_ the sea. My parents and I would always take these trips to the coast and spend hours walking up and down the beach, collecting shells and exploring the old structures…” to your surprise, the words bring a small, bittersweet smile to your face. Then of course you remember what happens next, and the smile dissipates like smoke in the breeze.

“When I was five years old, I went out with my dad to check out the old lighthouse, down on the bay...I don’t remember too much other than him and I walking along the upper banister.” You sigh and shake your head, taking a sip of water before continuing, “In retrospect, it was a dumb thing to do. The lighthouse had been abandoned for a very long time since most boats use GPS now but...he brought me up anyway.”

Glancing up you catch Emily’s distasteful frown. Despite yourself, the expression of disapproval amuses you enough to scoff a laugh. Her lip quirks up for a second at your chuckle, “Why on earth would you bring a _five-year-old_ to such a dangerous, old building?”

You roll your eyes, “He might’ve been my dad but he wasn’t so much of a _father..._ you know?”

Emily hums, nodding as her honey gaze drifts off somewhere behind you, “I think I know what you mean.”

You know she doesn’t. Not personally, at least, but you appreciate the sentiment. You can’t blame her. Corvo is the absolute _opposite_ of your father. Corvo was- _is-_ protective and endlessly selfless toward Emily and yourself. He’d give you the shirt off his back if you asked for it. Hell, the man is a walking tank! He would turn all of Dunwall upside down for you two if need be. Your dad, however, was always absent, even before he left for the last time. He spent a lot of time with you...but he never acted like Corvo. He never put you first or went out of his way to teach you normal dad-kid things like catch or how to tie your shoes or...well anything really. Except for the ocean. That might just be the only thing that ever contacted you two.

It's ironic then that the ocean separated you, in the end.

As you roll into your story, you find yourself mentally taken back to that day. Or at least the fragments you associate with it.

It was a gray sort of day with the sky blanketed a dreary gray. There was no rain yet, although you had arrived at the lighthouse early, to miss the afternoon shower. Your father had been so excited to go on an adventure with you. His hand completely encompassed your own, much smaller one.

For some reason, you distinctly remember the door being locked up tight- most likely to prevent what was about to happen. There was a bar set across the front with a complicated deadbolt only city watch could disarm. Your father stepped in front of you, shielding your view as he worked with the door. One moment, the entrance was sealed tight, then the next it was open. Your father had turned to you nonchalantly, the door pushed open and the lock lying useless on the stone beside you. How did he do that again? You can’t remember. Well, you suppose it doesn’t matter how he unlocked it…

Anyway, your memory skips forward a bit, until you reached the very top of the lighthouse. The view is what stood out immediately. Even on such a washed-out day, the horizon over the sea was breathtaking. So beautiful in fact that you started to wander away. The topmost room of the lighthouse had a railing that ran outside around the circumference of the vertical structure. Just standing on the old thing made it creak and groan in protest, but if your father wasn’t worried then neither were you. He was far too busy staring out at the waves, a distinct frown on his face.

You always wondered if he had been a sailor or something of the like before he met your mother. He always spoke of the sea. In his speech, his stories, and even his humor. But then other times it would seem to make him sad. Like how a bittersweet story leaves a certain stale taste in your mouth. You never liked that forlorn frown of his. You didn’t want him to be sad.

Yet, at that moment you walked further around, your hand trailed the railing as you went, delicately. Everything had been fine until you got a little too comfortable. A little too curious.

Your foot fell on the decayed, steel mesh, and the entire structure _creeeaaked…_

You remember the fear in your father’s eyes as he stood a few feet away, frozen. The way his hands fidgeted at his sides, unsure of what to do. He called your name softly at first- told you _not to move a muscle._

But all it took was a gasp and you fell.

The next part up until you hit the water is morbidly vivid in your memory. A set of still images and feelings you’ll never be able to forget. Even if they’re sent away in your mind, that fear is never too far behind you. Always there to haunt you.

You see the old, rusted railing snapped and warped as it gives beneath you. Then, the ground so far away. The white, hot light takes over as soon as your head grazes the rocks of the coast. The unforgiving grip of the ocean’s waves on your small form. The contrasting darkness of nothingness.

“What happened after?” Emily asks in the present, her eyes betraying her worry as they scan over your head- as if looking for old scars she had never noticed before.

“Besides waking up in my father’s arms on the beach, not much actually. Just _drowning_ then...I was fine. He saved my life I think, but ever since I’ve never been able to swim.”

“You said he left after this?” she presses and you nod numbly, your fingers busying themselves with the textured glass in your hands. You take a sip before confirming the rest of the story.

“When I woke up on that beach, the first thing I saw was my father’s face…” you glance away then as if burned by the memory, “he was _horrified,_ Em. Not just that- he was _disgusted_.”

“Well, I imagine it would be traumatic to watch your own child plummet into the sea.”

She says it with a careful tone, one not meant to be mocking yet you can’t help but bristle at the notion.

“It was more than just fatherly worry. He was _angry_ even. Horrified beyond just basic fear. He... _avoided me_ for the next whole week.” you sigh and run a hand through your hair, the motion soothing you only a little bit. “My mother was beside herself over it, and they’d fight once he did come home at some ungodly hour. I never remember the words just...it was about me. I knew it.”

Emily frowns, “And then he left, and he didn’t come back.”

You nod, meeting her eyes to find her watching you pensively. She thinks on something for a long beat before asking you, “How did you survive that fall?”

You blink at her, just as confused, “I hit the water the right way, I guess…”

“I thought you hit the rock first,” she counters calmly and you nod.

“Well, yes I did,” you answer carefully, “I’m sorry, Emily, what are you getting at?”

She sits back on the couch and appraises you cautiously as if you’re a puzzle she’s trying to solve. It’s not an invasive stare like you’re used to seeing in the Outsider, but thorough enough to make you shuffle in your seat.

Finally, she speaks, “That height and the rock- not to mention nearly drowning...you should be _dead.”_

It’s something you’ve always known yet...hearing the words from someone else’s lips still sends a cold shiver up your spine. You grip the glass tightly and feel the magic stir up faintly at your swell of anxiety. Immediately, you relax your left hand and let out a held breath.

“I...I guess so,” you mutter lamely. Unsure of how to react.

Emily stays collected. Her lips a thin line on her face. She opens her mouth a crack then closes it just as quickly, as if thinking better on herself. Before you can ask she’s already shaking her head and taking a long sip from her drink. While she mulls over whatever it is that stumped her you take the opportunity to set down your drink and lean forward. You grasp her free hand in your own two, carefully as though she might pull away.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” you apologize quietly, hoping she knows you’re telling the truth this time.

Emily frowns but sets her glass away and takes your hands in return. She squeezes them once but doesn’t let go. Her gaze hardens on you but not in true anger, just strong intent.

“I’m sorry your father was such an asshole. What he did was unforgivable...but you have Corvo and me now. We aren’t going anywhere.” She smiles then, a little quirk of her lip, “We _want_ you to depend on us. We’re stronger together.”

Despite yourself, her words stir up something in you. An old pain you had thought unmovable. Blinking rapidly you nod, a smile growing on your face, “I promise.”

“No more secrets?” she adds and you chuckle softly.

“No more secrets.”

Emily nods herself, her posture loosening up by the second. With a slow pull- plenty of time for you to pull away if you wish- she brings you into a warm hug. Her arms wrap around your shoulders and stay there a moment before letting you go again. The gesture means more to you than she knows.

“Now,” she continues in a much lighter tone, leaning back where you can see the glint in her eyes, “let me take care of this troublesome intern.”

“Wait,” you stop her, holding up your hands in mock surrender when she seems about to scold you, “I have to handle Irene Rose- at least, publicly...somehow she learned of where I was born and...if I only had something on her. Perhaps we could level the playing field.”

Emily smirks, flicking a stray hair from her eyes with acute precision.

“I’ll see if Alexi still has connections to city hall records…”

…

Emily was _not_ joking.

Alexi Mayhew, an old friend of hers and yours both, was immediately personally involved and went out of her way to get everything you’d possibly need to take care of Irene Rose.

And by the Void, you had no idea what she was hiding…

Immediately upon entering Emily’s office the next day, a stack of files was placed in your arms at least 3 inches thick. You stared widely at your adoptive sister, who looked as proud as could be. She patted the top file and smiled.

“Let me know if you need anything else.”

So now, going through the files, you’ve found out everything you need and connected a few dots more.

As it turns out, Irene is a bastard. 

She’s the illegitimate daughter of Dunwall’s acting governor, pushed under the rug for reasons that lie out of her control. Over the past decade and a half, several large transactions have been made out to Irene from the governor himself. Every month, on the dot, Irene Rose gets her share of the family trust fund. If you’re taking everything else from this file into account, your best guess would be that she’s holding him hostage. Her very existence is blackmail. If she were to publicly prove that her father, a highborn, native Gristolian, conceived then abandoned a child out of his current wedlock, his career would be destroyed. You’re familiar with the man from his campaigns over the years. The reason he’s stayed in his powerful position year after year is that he panders to the people. He pretends to be one of them- an everyday working joe. You aren’t one for politics, but you know the man takes his image very seriously. If people were to find out about the money and Irene’s origins, there would be chaos.

You have copies of all of it: the blood tests, the DNA charts, the bank receipts- all of it is true, and honestly, it makes sense now looking back at how she’s treated you.

Irene Rose was born nothing and, as you can imagine, was furious for the posh life that was stolen from her. She used the truth as blackmail to get everything she ever wanted from a man too spineless to just come clean. You can’t fathom how hard that would have been on her. If these records are to be believed, her childhood wasn’t exactly an easy one.

Actually, maybe _you_ know better than anyone how she feels...after all, you, too, were born to nothing but a broken home. Yet, fortune smiled your way in the form of the Kaldwins, while Irene on the other hand... had to take it herself, by force. No wonder she thinks you’re lazy and incompetent. From her point of view, your life must seem like a cakewalk. Now that you see where she’s coming from, you can’t help but sympathize with her a bit. Just a little. Enough to stall you from firing her on the spot, at least. 

You should be elated with this news. You finally have the weapon to defeat her, literally in hand, yet you’re reluctant to do so. She invaded your privacy and used her father to get dirt on you, but...how is what you’re doing right now any better than her? You did the same thing just to even the playing field, but is this the victory you really want?

No matter what, Irene Rose has to go, you _know_ that. She’s not even doing her job anymore, just stealing from the company. You just need time to process this, maybe.

So maybe that’s why you decided to come to work early, for once. To see the whales before the lab is overflowing with employees and to breathe the crisp, autumn air. You can hardly believe the months have gone by so fast, with winter just over the horizon. Speaking of, it’ll be your birthday soon, and surely Emily will make a big fuss out of it as she always does.

You sigh, looking around to ensure the coast is clear before you approach the whale floating in the pen. He’s submerged with just an inch or two between his back and the surface, yet you can hear his groans clearly. All of the whales up and down the room are making some noise- whether that be pained moans or the low, sorrowful songs that float off their skin, it reaches your ears painfully easy.

Frowning, you restrain yourself from reaching out to pet the poor thing.

“Sorry guys...you’ll have to be brave just a bit longer…” you mutter and the great animal twitches beneath the water as if in response.

During the day, this entire section of the Rehabilitation Center is opened up, which allows for direct access to the sea through a half-submerged gate. You’ve arrived even before the Biologists under Eliot’s watch, allowing for a peaceful scene. At least, it would be peaceful if the lab wasn’t stocked full with suffering whales. Nonetheless, the early dawn light trailing through the windows is a silver lining you’re grateful for. You have a lot to think about, and despite how tired you are you’d rather be here working than sitting in bed stuck with yourself for hours.

Yet you can’t help but entertain a certain idea you’ve been mulling over the past few days. It’s a rash and irresponsible thing to try, yet it’s a possibility, isn’t it? Normally you’d never get a chance to attempt it...but no one is here, right?

Triple checking your surroundings, you pause and take a deep breath of crisp morning air before reaching up to the whale pen’s control board. Pressing the right buttons and pulling the lever has become second nature at this point, yet your hands are shaking a bit. Just nerves.

Immediately the machine which holds the mighty animal whirs to life. In your isolation, the clunking and pulling noise it makes is deafening. It feels like an eternity before the whale before you is hoisted up to your shoulders in height. As the final _‘clunk!’_ of the lock resounds through the dead silent room, you can’t help but freeze. You wait 1, 2, then 10 seconds. Then 30. No one comes in to investigate. Not a single noise other than the soft rocking of the animal before you.

Cautiously, you remove the white glove from your left hand and expose the dark markings there. Clutching the fabric in your right, as if for stability, you make a fist, and effortlessly the Outsider’s mark dances to life. You let out a held breath and look up to the whale one last time. It’s hanging limp in the machine’s hold, indifferent. Its entire body is marred by crisscrossing black lines. Cracks overflowing with a power you can faintly hear if you strain hard enough. You approach the edge of the platform until the large expanse of the whale’s grayed skin is only inches away.

You reach out your left hand and bring it to the blackened skin, but only so it’s hovering. Just barely an inch away. Closing your eyes, you breathe in and strain every fiber of your being towards the cracks across the whale.

Immediately you get feedback in the form of a static hum between your palm and the virus coating the outside of the animal. It feels like...a magnet. The magic emanating from the virus is resonating with what’s in your hand and pulling. _Calling._ It’s not a physical pull either, that’s the strangest part, it’s a _mental one_ . The black flesh isn’t forcing you closer but it’s as if it’s making you _want_ to touch it. This realization makes your skin crawl, but you’re this close. You have to at least try.

Channeling the flow of the Void’s energy, you try and will it into motion, much like a wave. Ebb and flow, it courses strongly beneath your fingers, pushing and pulling until the static is almost visible. If you could just urge it back through the tear like what happened the other night-

Yet, as soon as you even try to mix your magic with that of the whale’s, the pull turns into a violent _yank._

Your fingertips are wretched out of the air and brought directly onto the affected skin of the whale and there’s a split second of freezing cold.

Then it hurts. And it’s _agony_.

You don’t know if you scream or make any noise. You’re not sure if you can even breathe with the sudden hot anguish that spreads from your fingertips to your chest. Everything is happening too quickly, you can barely think. With wide eyes, you watch helplessly as the black tendrils jump from the whale onto you- not even leaving the previous host just _growing_ onto you. Every centimeter that turns pitch is another atom set ablaze.

It’s a pain, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. It’s unnatural and endlessly empty. Like your very life force is being sucked into the Void itself- and maybe it is. You certainly feel lightheaded, apart from the gushing of adrenaline moving through you.

You reach up your right hand to grasp your left, a feeble and panicked attempt at stopping the black veins from rising any higher- but it does nothing. No, the virus- _the tear-_ only grows onto that hand too and suddenly you’re closer to the ground than you were a moment ago. You’ve fallen to your knees, which throb with static. Like every drop of blood in your body has been electrified and sapped away.

The Void takes and takes and takes-

You hear a voice- calling your name. Someone’s hands firm against the dead weight of your body.

“E-Emily-“ you gasp, recognizing her panicked voice, “no don’t- don’t touch me!”

_“Let go.”_ A harsh whisper nearly yells in your other ear, and a ghostly weight slides over the back of your left hand. Quickly his hand closes over yours- at least that’s the last thing you _feel_ \- and the tear snaps off. Whipping back with such a force you feel the recoil smack against your bones.

You close your eyes, falling back into a blackness that never seems to end.

Blessedly, the pain stops, and you fall into black.

~ ~ ~

There is nothing.

You can’t feel anything at first. Just the low humming of the Void reverberating through you.

Are...you dead? You can’t open your eyes right away, so you immediately fear the worst.

_“Reckless…”_ a voice mutters, echoing strangely and ringing at the edges.

No, you can't be dead. Surely the dead don’t have bounding hearts and dry throats. Proving as such, you cough into your hand and wince at the action. Sluggishly, you attempt to open your blurry eyes, and you find yourself truly back in the Void once more. It’s a process, finding the feeling in your arms by flexing them once or twice, like willing away the static in a sleeping limb. It’s not as painful as it is uncomfortable, however, somehow you find the strength in you to get up to at least a kneeling position.

It hits you then like a ton of bricks and you immediately bring up your arms for inspection. They’re completely clear of blemish, however. You turn them over and find nothing out of place. Not a single speck of the virus to be found.

_“I never thought you, of all people, would act so brashly,”_ the voice pipes up again, and you glance upward to find the Outsider watching you from across the obsidian island. Despite the neutrality of his tone, his frown is set in a deep scowl and black eyes sharpened like knives.

As soon as he sees that you’ve returned to yourself mentally, his long, jade-colored tail whips and he swims away from you. He finds his pace circling the floating island, never floating too far away, and keeping you in the corner of his eye.

Sighing shakily you move to take a step forward, a tired remark on your tongue, but something jagged catches your foot and in the next moment you’re falling again.

In a flurry of black shards, the Siren moves forward, materializing at your side with an iron grip on your forearm. He stops your momentum and pulls back just enough to grant you balance. even as you level gazes with him, however, he doesn’t move to release you.

You narrow your eyes at him, pushing through your embarrassment, “I had to try _something.”_

He doesn’t respond verbally, but the disapproving twinge in his brow says plenty.

“I know what you’re going to say,” you start, rolling your eyes as you try not to sway with nausea. (Spirits, you have a splitting migraine-!)

“Oh?” he wonders, sardonically, and now it’s your turn to scowl. You pull your arm away and he gives with only a little reluctance.

“You’re going to tell me I _'shouldn’t have_ _forced the Void into submission’_ or something, right?”

He doesn’t move out of your personal space, only continues to stare back at you unblinkingly. You roll your eyes and look back down to your hands again, holding them up to the low light of this cold place.

“Well, I didn’t exactly get a choice...I thought I could do what you did the other night.”

Scoffing, he tilts his head away from you, eyes glancing down at your hands, “I think you’ll find there is a momentous difference between a papercut and a laceration.”

You just bite into your lip, caught red-handed, to your frustration. Of course, he has to be right, like literally everything else thus far. It’s maddening for you. Why even have these powers if you can’t do any good with them? You can’t help but think he should have marked someone else. Like Emily or Corvo.

His cold touch on your hand halts your entire train of thought. Glancing back you nearly flinch in surprise to find him closer than he was a second ago- or are you still just dizzy from before? Slow and careful, he wraps his long, webbed fingers around your palm until it’s latched firmly in his own two. As if avoiding your questioning gaze, he continues to blink down at the mark upon your left hand, lost in thought.

He’s acting so strange and handling you so gently you almost don’t want to say anything to disrupt the space between you, but someone has to eventually.

“I’m assuming you were the one to stop me back there,” you ask, quiet and uncertain. He doesn’t even flinch, too caught up in his own little world, although his brow furrows slightly.

“I merely motivated you. It would have consumed you otherwise.”

“Well thank you, regardless,” you insist, and cautiously bring up your free hand to lay it over his own. You’re not sure why you feel the impulse to do so, however, you know that he’s always seemed to respond better to gestures, so maybe that’s why…

Blinking once, he returns to himself somewhat and he lifts his gaze to meet your own only for a moment before disappearing once again. The gust of shadow arcs away then disperses into the air, leaving you dizzy once more. The world adjacent to this one, the one your real body lies in, begins to bleed behind your eyes. Pulling you back from the depths.

_“Enjoy the peaceful nights while they last,”_ he advises, seemingly all around you.

_“I think you’ll find that the truth is sometimes much more scathing than the lie.”_

…

The black nothingness fades out and, like waking from a deep sleep, you slowly come back into the weight of your mortal body. Heavy and suffocating is the blanket strewn over you. Almost as heavy as your own eyelids, which quickly flutter open. The light of the room is harsh and it takes you several moments to come back to yourself.

Of course, that awful headache is still present. At least that’s one continuity.

Groaning, you try and lift your head, only to find it stuffed full of lead. Immediately, a blazing hot hand reaches out and presses gingerly onto your shoulder. The temperature of the other person contrasts against the clamminess of your own skin, and you flinch as you lay back down.

“Easy there,” the voice coos and the hand pats your shoulder almost apologetically, “you took _quite_ a spill, love.”

“Eliot?” you guess, turning to peek an eye open at said Head Biologist. He’s sitting beside the white bed you’re lying in, a concerned yet relieved look on his face. Eliot pushes up his glasses with a soft smile.

“Expecting someone else?” he jokes, and you catch yourself from sputtering a reply. He cracks a grin at that, “Only teasing! We’re in the first aid office, and you’ve been asleep for nearly an hour now.”

Sighing out slowly you nod to yourself. After a moment of collecting the feeling of your limbs, you start to sit up. This time it’s easier to push through your nausea until you’re sitting up against the angled backboard. Then, as if the blood has finally rushed back to your brain, you return to yourself and immediately you look down to your arms.

Still, nothing, thank the Sirens (quite literally), and your gloves have also returned to being fitted snugly over your hands. You remember taking them off to try and touch the whale, so how did they..?

“Emily found you unconscious,” Eliot supplies, reading your alarmed face no doubt, “apparently you had been inspecting one of the whales when you just fell over, blacked out.”

That’s right. You distinctly remember hearing Emily shouting your name before the pain got the best of you. She must have followed you into work and found you in the middle of your little magic experiment. You imagine the black scarring would have disappeared in your sleep, and afterward, Emily graciously hid your Siren’s mark with the gloves you always wear. You’re sure she’ll demand you explain yourself later. And just after you both bickered once before, too...how annoying.

Bringing up a hand to push back your hair, you try and smile for Eliot, who (bless him) is sitting almost at the edge of his seat waiting for a response.

“I’m fine, really,” you say and immediately he deflates, “I’m sorry if I worried you.”

“Forgiven,” he waves it off, “I’m just glad to see you’re alright. The nurse insisted you were fine. Just your run-of-the-mill blackout, however, I didn’t feel comfortable leaving until you woke…”

“You...stayed?” you echo, stuck silent and sincerely touched. Does he really care that much about you? That’s...so sweet of him. You make sure to tell him as much.

He turns an adorable shade of pink at that, raising a hand to fidget with his glasses as he grins, “It’s nothing, love...I’m sorry if I’ve been distant lately.”

You tilt your head in question and he clears his throat to elaborate, “I know I haven’t been responding to your texts or calls, and I don’t want you to think I’m ignoring you-”

“Eliot,” you insist quietly, “you don’t have to answer me all the time you have a life. I know that.”

“Replying is just basic courtesy,” he pushes, shaking his head, “I was rude, and for that, I apologize…” Eliot blinks then and that signature mischief returns to his face, “I hope you’re still going to the gala with me?”

Groaning you lean back in bed, “The gala, I completely forgot…” then, more hesitantly as you meet his eyes once more, “you...want to go with me?”

Eliot Fletcher appraises you with something akin to wonder and surprise. He laughs, “Well I would surely hope so! Am I doing that horrid of a job courting you?”

_“Courting-”_ you snort, nervously grinning yourself, “n-no you’re fine I’m just...still catching up with myself I guess.”

Eliot smiles, pausing as he seems to contemplate something. Then, after a moment of silence, he starts to move and every function in your body is put on pause. Like getting a shot of adrenaline, your heart races as he inches closer to you, eyes half-lidded as he moves no doubt to kiss you.

Surely it’s been too long since you’d kissed _anyone_ . This is Eliot you’re talking about. Sweet, charismatic, charming, _perfect Eliot-_ your current partner (although you’ve hardly had time to make up any labels). He’s great and he cares about you and he’s handsome and you’re horribly touched-starved-!

So...why do you swallow a sigh of pure _relief_ when the door opens behind him, and Eliot jumps back in surprise before he can close his lips over yours.

Unfortunately, you don’t have time to process _that_ spiderweb of emotions, because you look up to meet eyes with a scowling and gravely serious Corvo Attano.

Eliot clears his throat and jumps up, moving to the door with a red face and sheepish grin, “Ah, Mister Attano, pardon me...I’m glad you’re feeling better, love- call you later!”

He moves around Corvo’s contrastingly opposing figure before disappearing behind the now shut door. There’s a breath of silence before your adoptive father huffs in irritation. He steps forward and takes a seat where Eliot had just been, leaning back against the seat’s back. He pins you in place with a deep frown, crossing his arms.

“He’s _interesting.”_ Corvo offers, unenthused and you smirk, uneasily.

“It took you a while to get used to Wyman, too.”

He scoffs lightly, posture relaxing more and more the longer he sits and sees that you’re alright.

“Eliot is a kissass, that’s all...I’m wary of those sorts.”

Furrowing your brows, you begin to formulate a retort of some kind, but he’s already taking back control of the conversation. He watches you carefully, “Emily’s filled me in on nearly everything. What were you doing when you fainted?”

Without verbally asking, you peek around the room, unsure if it’s truly safe to speak about magic in the open like this. Corvo shakes his head, stopping your train of thought.

“Don’t worry about it, there’s no security cameras in here and I told the staff to give you time alone to rest...now go ahead.”

Right. You take a deep breath and start from the beginning when you came in early. You retell the whole experience without a single missed detail. The whale, your magic, the energy being sucked away into the Void…Although, then you think of the Siren, and how it felt for your hands to be clasped together…

  
  


You keep _that_ private detail to yourself...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok there's one thing I want to address right away and that's the scene with Reader explaining why they can't swim/their thalassophobia. I promise you that stuff will become important later- in case the hints aren't obvious, in which case that's my fault as a writer- and I won't spoil anything, of course ✨ however just trust me when I say I'm not rambling on their backstory for no reason lol we just haven't met some of those people yet~
> 
> Also you may have noticed that I capped off the story at 41 chapters 👀 I finally finished the outline since I last updated and I feel much more confident going forward, so look forward to that ⭐️ We're halfway there!~
> 
> Speaking of endgame stuff, I'm curious to know if people would be interested in a side collection of oneshots set within the universe of this AU fic? I have a couple scrapped ideas for scenes that just didn't fit in the outline...for example, I had a whole chapter with Delilah Copperspoon in it that I had to take out, or even just some oneshots of the Reader and the main cast post-Iridescence. Ranging from fluff to some angsty character studies...compact stuff!
> 
> Anyway, thank you for sticking around and continuing to read my little story 💕 I greatly appreciate all the kudos and comments- you guys make my day seriously lol ✨ See you soon! :)


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